The Way Home
by mysweetone
Summary: Ch. 22-Ch. 23: Belated contributions to EAST alliance. Post season 3, canon/AU. Anthony accepts Tom's offer and attempts to redeem himself after letting the Crawleys and his own inner demons force him into the terrible mistake. Will they be able to recognize his sacrifices and see forgiveness? And Edith? Rating T for now, but will hit M in later chapters. R&R much appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **I'm new at fanfiction writing, (I should be focused on my thesis right now!) but decided to try it given that this couple just keeps dwelling in my brain. I want to thank everyone for their kind encouragement-and inspiration. There are such wonderful stories written by incredibly talented writers out here devoted to this beautiful pair! Wow! (It's a bit intimidating to post!) Reviews appreciated.

Like many of you, I haven't been able to get over the terrible injustice to these two characters...particularly Anthony(!). I know Julian Fellowes owns them, but he must not like them very much (as some of you have duly noted)-which is highly unfortunate given the brilliance of his actors in portraying them as a couple onscreen. Wow, they're good together. This story is post-season 3, so be aware of any spoilers and such.

* * *

Anthony Strallan stared at the desk in front of him, not seeing the words and figures on the papers strewn about in slight disarray. His coffee cup sat almost empty as the morning sunlight danced off the glass of the library windows. After more than a year of not having left Locksley, of being seen with no one and being invited nowhere, Anthony remained lost and his concentration failed him constantly throughout the day—not to mention the terrible nights. The ceaseless interruptions only had one source: _Edith._ Regret for his cowardly and humiliating behavior, for his inability to stand up to Robert and Violet…well, 'regret' seemed too weak a word. _Oh, Edith_.

"The latest paper, Sir," Stewart announced. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, thank you," Anthony whispered. He glanced down at the paper now in front of him and his slightly-bearded jaw dropped—the announcement of the Earl's heir, Matthew Crawley, and the tragic car accident that claimed his life. "Oh, my God." Anthony closed his eyes, shuddering. _First, Lady Sybil, and now young Matthew._

The first thought was to send a letter of sympathy—but Anthony dashed that. _No one would want to hear from me right now—not even a year after the wedding_.

Instead, he found himself empathizing with Lady Mary and the new baby. He knew only too well how very shattered they would be for the weeks and months to come. Anthony stood up, needing to gaze out the window. The pain in his arm caused him to grimace; he could do nothing about the pain in his chest…or the feeling of paralysis that enveloped practically every aspect of his existence.

* * *

_Six months later…_

Stewart opened the door to the library and announced: "Mr. Tom Branson, Sir."

Anthony stood, surprised. "Tom?"

"Sir Anthony." Tom offered a half-smile, uncertain how to greet the gentleman. They had not seen one another since the humiliating day at the church.

Anthony gestured for Tom to take a seat. "Tom—how are you? How's your…daughter, is that right?"

Tom grinned. "Sybil's sweet—looks just like her mother."

"Of course. And her mother was a beautiful young woman." Anthony frowned. "I was so sorry to hear of Lady Sybil's…passing," his voice cracked with tenderness.

"Thank you," Tom shifted in the chair and sought to change the subject. "Sir Anthony, I know it's been a long time and I don't mean to intrude—"

"It's no intrusion at all," Anthony insisted. "Please, how can I be of service?"

Tom stared at Anthony, unsure of how to read the gentleman. "Sir—"

"Anthony—please. No need for more."

"Well, Matthew and I came up with a plan to bring Downton's grounds up to the—well, the modern times. It's been a while since any attention was really paid to them," Tom explained.

Anthony nodded, listening with obvious concern.

"I've asked around, Sir—uh, Anthony, and it seems pretty well known in the county that you have the most successful farm."

Anthony hesitated. "I'm not sure—"

"I need your help. Now that Matthew's—" Tom fought back his emotions. "Sir, I need a hand with some of the planning and carrying out what Matthew wanted—what Downton needs. I've tried these past months on my own mostly, but I'd—I'd just like a bit of advice is all."

Anthony opened his mouth to speak.

"And—before you worry—I don't intend to let Lord Grantham know you're helping me. I know he'd probably sooner run you back here to Locksley or have you shot than know you're on his property." Tom paused, seeing the impact of his words. "I'm sorry if that's a bit harsh. It's just—"

"No, you're absolutely right. He would be right to take either action, I'm afraid." Anthony stared at the neat, polished floors of his library and then back at Tom. "Tom, I'd be honored to help you. I'd hoped one day to redeem myself in whatever small way…"

Tom saw the anguish on Anthony's face. "Perhaps doing a good deed will be a start, but..." Tom felt uncomfortable, and as the anxiety and emotion in the room began to escalate he sought to make a quick exit. After all, he didn't know Anthony all that well. Instead, he stood, as did his host.

"Tom—before you go—I must ask: How—how is Lady Edith? I read her columns, but…but I wonder. Is—is she happy? Has she found…" He couldn't bring himself to say it, and his voice quieted.

Tom knew the truth, but the pleading stare of Anthony's haunting blue eyes forced him to be vague, almost comforting. "I think so—I mean, she's writing now in London and she's there quite a bit."

Anthony looked away and sighed.

"Shall we start tomorrow then?" Tom asked. "Go over the grounds and check out the new equipment? Are you up for it?" Tom studied Anthony for a moment, wondering if he was capable of any type of physical exertion. The gaunt features and the weight loss did not escape Tom's observation. He knew Anthony was tall and slim, but the past year had clearly taken a toll.

Anthony nodded. Tom extended his left hand to Anthony. As they shook, Anthony smiled in appreciation of the simple gesture.

"I'll be by to pick you up first thing." Tom walked to the doorway. "And, Anthony—thank you."

Anthony's eyebrows rose. "Thank you, Tom. I look forward to being of assistance in any way I can."

As Tom left and drove back to Downton, thoughts of his past meetings with Anthony returned: always gentlemanly in appearance, kind gestures, and easy conversation—thoughtful conversation—but then that day when he'd walked out on Edith... Tom couldn't believe that was the same man back there at Locksley. His age, yes, that had always been obvious, but Strallan's appearance now—over a year later—spoke more of sleepless nights and unspeakable pain…

Anthony watched Tom drive away. Thoughts of being useful crept into his mind with unease. This would be a short-term venture to help Tom and no one would need to know. Anthony could in some small way try to make amends for his actions humiliating the entire family, especially Edith. Would there—could there be any way to heal that wound? _Edith_…


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Anthony awoke early from a fitful dream of Edith. The nature of these sorts of dreams always left him with the same ache, a crushing in his chest, and an utter sense of alarm. He had been trying to get to her—she was waiting for him, smiling that lovely smile, in the same beautiful cream wedding dress on the edge of the greens at Locksley. He was surrounded by the trenches—despite having only been near a couple during the actual war, the smell and images of horror were permanently imprinted in his mind—and then suddenly there were men in the business of intelligence work dressed in everyday suits or casual, nondescript clothes scurrying from place to place with whispers and hushed secrets. No one was recognizable, no familiar allies in the crowd. The scene was abstract, chaotic, but the paranoia and panic that filled Anthony always seemed overwhelming and real. Anthony was bloodied and desperately calling out for her, shrieking her name to no avail—all else was quiet, strangely muted warfare—_why couldn't she hear him?_ The wound slowed him; his arm already on fire with injured nerves. Always, before he reached her, and despite Anthony's screams for her, Robert appeared and walked away with Edith, refusing to listen to her protests that Anthony would be there, that he wouldn't leave her, that she was certain he loved her—always, without hesitation, Robert merely shook his head and kept pulling her away from him, from the possibility of their life together.

Without fail, when Anthony woke he had to reassure himself of his environment—make sure the ghosts of men weren't able to find him…or her. He lifted his head from the sweat-dampened pillow and studied his bedroom. All was quiet, save for the pounding of his heart. _My love_…_Edith…_he whispered her name again and again, a promise and prayer for peace and sanity, and closed his eyes until his pulse steadied. Only then could he meet the day.

After a quiet breakfast and the reading of the papers, Anthony heard Tom's car and met him outside.

"Good morning."

"Good morning, Sir," Tom replied. "Are you ready?"

"Of course," Anthony smiled, climbing into the vehicle.

Tom returned the smile. "Going casual today, I see." He chuckled at the proper gentleman.

Anthony glanced over his attire. "You said we'd be walking the fields a bit, right?" His insecurities over his choice of brown slacks and a plain white shirt with his left sleeve cuffed above his wrist left him uncertain for a moment.

Tom laughed. "You're right—I'm just a bit surprised when gentlemen dress without all the trimmings. You look fine for what we're doing today, really," he assured Anthony with a smile.

Anthony did look fit for the day. The sun was warm and he had shaved and dressed himself mostly, and, to Tom, he looked to have a bit more color to him already.

Tom drove just a few minutes to reach the border of the Downton estate grounds and the two got out to begin their survey. As they walked over the green pastures and the edges of the tenants' lands, an easy silence fell between them. They talked with a few of the tenants early on and Tom immediately noticed Anthony's gifts in dealing with people. Though a couple of tenants were hesitant at first to speak with Anthony there, he drew them out—he was discreet, gentle, knowledgeable, and kind, with no hint of condescension or, perhaps worse in Tom's view, pretension.

"Shall we return to Locksley for lunch?" Anthony asked, hoping Tom would accept the invitation.

"Do you mind if I call Downton and let them know I'm eating elsewhere? They tend to worry if I don't show up at the proper times."

"Of course."

They arrived and were met by Stewart. "Lunch, sir?"

"Yes, please Stewart. Please allow Mr. Branson to use the telephone as well. I'll clean up and be there shortly."

Tom followed Stewart, made the call, and informed Downton that he would be eating lunch in town rather than at the estate. It was a small lie, but rather worth it given the lessons he'd learned that morning about the farm and the business from Anthony. He was grateful and knew the next few days would be vital to helping turn Downton around.

Anthony and Tom ate, with Tom sharing news of Sybil. Tom delighted in talking about his young daughter and Anthony listened intently, smiling all the while. After almost half an hour of eating and chatting between bites, Anthony noticed that Tom seemed to purposely leave Edith out of any of the anecdotes. He longed to hear about her—that she was happy, that she was unhappy…did she miss him? _That's selfish—that's not why you let her go_, he chastised himself.

Tom caught on to Anthony's lapse in attention. "Are you alright?"

Anthony started. "Yes—yes. Sorry. I was just lost—"

"She's still on your mind." Tom didn't pose it as a question, but a full-fledged truth.

Anthony cast a sideways glance, his expression giving him away. "I'm sorry."

"If I may—why did you do it? She loved you, you know."

Anthony stared at him for a moment. "What?"

"Don't act like you didn't know. My God, it was clear—she loved you and you just threw it away," Tom gestured with his hands and tossed his napkin on the table. "Good grief, you had to be crazy!"

Anthony whispered, "I didn't want to, but I…I knew they disapproved—I couldn't let her just…I'm not worth it."

Tom glared at him. "So you let the lot of them push you away and let her go to find love and she runs off to a married man in London—do you think he's worth it?"

It was Anthony's turn to glare. "What? What are you saying?"

"Yeah—her editor, this Michael something or other—he's married and says he's in love with her. She's practically being courted by him. Is that what you thought would be better for her? You break her heart when she's madly in love with you and she finds the first man who says he loves her and wants to keep her as a mistress—is that okay with you? Because right now she thinks it is!" Tom hadn't realized until that moment how upset he was by Edith's choices. Gregson seemed nice enough at first, but the situation was so wrong and he couldn't hide that he had doubts about Gregson's motives.

Anthony sat in shock. Tom presented an avenue Anthony had never considered as a possibility for Edith. _What was this?_ _In her own mind, was Edith trying to prove her independence? Trying to—what? This was moving on with her life? This was being a_ _modern woman_? Anthony's appetite abandoned him.

"Aren't you going to say something?" Tom asked.

"I love her…have loved her since before the war…" Anthony's focus drifted downward, settling at the far corner of the room, and his voice became only a gentle echo from years past. Anthony's mind replayed the memories: the concert, the dinners, her delicate hand in his, and those lovely drives together talking of books and everything under the sun. But then, the garden party…

Tom waited. Finally, he said, "And?"

"I suppose she sees this as starting a life on her own, but…" Anthony remained lost, retracing their brief courtship before their wedding day. His mind summoned the moment all too easily and flashed to her disbelief and beautiful, stricken brown eyes as she tried to reach him at the altar, the feel of her hand clenching his in an effort to steady him, to bind them together…

Tom lost his patience. "But what?"

Anthony came back then in an instant, stared at Tom with such a direct look the young man couldn't help but sit up straighter in his chair. Anthony's voice was deep and the strength in it startled Tom. "I'm proud of her independence and her intelligence—I wouldn't cage her up if she were married to me! Why is she allowing this _man_ to do that to her?" He hesitated for only a moment, fearful of acknowledging the potential and very possible truth. "_If _she even sees it that way… Does she…love him?"

Anthony's furrowed brow and expectant gaze proved intense as he waited for Tom's response.

Tom's lips curved upward only slightly, a bit apologetic, but pleased by the passionate response from Anthony; he knew he'd managed to provoke his mild-mannered host. "I don't know. I'm sorry—I don't know." His tone softened a bit as he saw Anthony's look of hurt and confusion.

Anthony swallowed hard, unable to meet Tom's look of concern. "Perhaps we should focus on our work. It's too late anyway," he muttered. "Come on—we'll have a look at the new harvesting equipment before it gets too late."

Tom finished his last bit of luncheon and followed Anthony back out to the car. The spark Tom lit in the man now underneath the surface again...the eruption of emotion buried once more.


	3. Chapter 3

Anthony woke in the early morning hours and felt the fatigue catching up with him after working with Tom the past two days. The shadows in his room played tricks with his mind again. _It won't stop_, the voice insisted as the familiar terror crept in. He broke out in a cold sweat and began to shake. He willed his body and nerves to calm, telling himself there was no threat, no reason at all to this madness. _My God, why isn't there a cure for this? _ _It's been years now. Edith…this—this unrelenting battle in my head is what I fear you will never understand, my darling. I don't want you to have to live with the shell of a man I've become_. Of course, he had tried to explain it to her. _"It's not just my arm—" _ Anthony's eyes shut tight at the memory of her determination, her certainty…her love. He stepped out of bed, his soft, white pajamas still clinging to him. Donning his slippers, he made his way downstairs to the sanctuary of the library. He turned the lamp on and poured himself a drink. Working with Tom made Edith seem so close and still…he knew it must be the trigger.

Anthony sipped the warm, amber liquid. He stared at the desk until he could restrain himself no more, and, knowing the torture that would follow, surrendered. What he could not face lay in the tiniest drawer of the desk and he opened it for the first time in more than eighteen months.

_For my dearest darling, Lady Edith Strallan_…_In gratitude for this life you have given us…_ Anthony held the mobius strip tenderly, studying it in the light. The delicate bracelet with no beginning or end symbolizing their love finally granted as husband and wife was meant as a wedding gift upon their return to Locksley following the ceremony; a gift that awaited them in their bedroom for their first night together. He had ordered and customized it the morning after his talk with Lord Grantham about the engagement, following his proposal and his attempt the evening before to tell Edith how much she meant to him. After fleeing the church, Anthony had barely collected himself enough to send the staff away before retreating—feeling very much the coward—to his bedroom, only to be driven to his knees in anguished tears by the very sight of it on her nightstand by the bed.

_"You've given me back my life." And then it was gone._

Anthony tried to breathe with that moment replaying in his mind again and again. He placed the bracelet down on the desk and took a sip of brandy.

_Damned romantic fool. _He'd imagined their wedding night and how it should have been thousands of times: Edith's smile and blushing radiance as she teased him about being a secret romantic, and voicing—as she often did during their drives or quiet afternoons together—her sweet delight and utter joy that no one else knew what they were like together, no one knew _this_ side of him: the stoic gentleman come undone by love, _her love_. Always, those imaginings ended with his beautiful Edith between their sheets adorned with only her wedding band and the bracelet, and the desire in her eyes as he made love to her, forcing her to lose herself and then come back to him again…

Anthony sipped the brandy again in an effort to assuage the guilt welling up inside. As a gentleman, he had no right to take pleasure in fantasies such as this given his behavior, the way he had humiliated her... Tom's words haunted him. He'd thrown her away, left her, yes, but it was the honorable thing to do—the right thing. _Surely, sacrificing everything I had—we had—for her, no less! Surely, that wasn't a mistake?_ _God, Edith, please forgive me for loving you so… _His eyes stung, even before the final swallow he took to finish the brandy.


	4. Chapter 4

Hours later Anthony sat at the desk again, only clean-shaven and dressed with papers everywhere and Tom beside him in a chair glancing over his left shoulder while Anthony wrote, re-wrote, and confirmed the figures.

"The numbers were good for last season—Matthew did well. I'm afraid that some of them need to be revised though for the coming one. I've done some calculations and scratched out a few items. These should be more than appropriate and Lord Grantham can give his approval."

Tom nodded. "I'll show them to him first thing this afternoon. It's already near luncheon—would you like to eat at the pub? It's been a long week."

"We could eat here if—"

"Anthony, there's a village outside the Locksley grounds where they serve ale and people see one another and chat in a friendly manner…called a public house—have you heard of it?" Tom grinned.

"I'm afraid I wouldn't—"

"Enjoy yourself? Be welcome?"

Anthony could only acquiesce in silence—Tom knew him and he knew the societal outcast Anthony had become, but it didn't stop him.

"Come on. Grab your coat. I'll drive if you want?"

"Do you mind if we walk?" Anthony offered. "I love these early spring days and I've gotten used to the exercise this week."

Tom shrugged. "Of course."

The lengthy walk into the village gave them time to chat again, only this time Tom was treading a bit more carefully and made no mention of Edith.

Anthony felt himself stall outside the door of the pub. His mind was caught up in the gossip and humiliation when everything went so terribly awry. Tom held the door, gave him a pat on his good shoulder, and ushered him inside. They found a table in the corner and Anthony glanced around, his nerves getting the better of him.

"It's all right. We're going to eat and drink and be gone. Relax and quit letting whatever it is get to you."

"Yes, you're right," he managed.

They ordered and, while they waited, Anthony felt the need to clarify for Tom a few matters on manners and social conventions, but started gently. "Tom, when I left the church—well, society pretty well-"

"I know."

"No, I'm not sure you understand—"

"I do," Tom waited for it to catch up with his companion. "I married Sybil Crawley, remember? I know all about society."

"Well, for a man in my position to do such—"

Tom made no effort to hide his mockery. He forgot about his promise to himself to tread carefully and all propriety, if he had any, and sense abandoned him: "Such a terrible, evil thing as to succumb to the Dowager's wishes _and _humiliate the Earl's family? Wait—that's essentially what she wanted you to do in the end, right? Perhaps not in that way exactly, but she certainly set you up for it and, in that case, well done. Now, move on with your life and decide for yourself what you want and, if it's Edith, then what the bloody Hell are you waiting on? God knows what would have happened if I'd not—" The pints arrived, giving Tom pause to take a long drink while Anthony sat staring, once again, in shock at his brash, young friend's lack of tact…and his way with truth.

Realizing he'd said quite enough, the two ate in a tense silence.

Anthony finished his meal quickly and looked around again at the establishment. One man in particular drew his attention—a slightly bearded, potentially intoxicated man of about Tom's age who kept glaring in Tom's direction. Discreetly, Anthony mentioned him to Tom, who brushed it off.

"Riordan. We disagreed a while back over some Irish politics, nothing else," he dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "But let's go all the same and not pay him any mind. I've got to get back and see Robert."

Anthony gave a half-smile as they paid and began walking out. "Things must be better if you're on a first-name basis with him."

Tom glanced at Anthony over his shoulder and held the door for him, "I don't think 'better' is really the right term, but we manage."

The two began the walk back towards Downton, ambling at an easy pace and continuing to chat. Tom mentioned Sybil and Anthony spoke of Maud briefly, but it was clear that even though the marriages and losses were significant for them both—Anthony's to Maud did not share the same passion as Tom and Sybil's possessed. Anthony spoke respectfully and tenderly, but Tom recognized the palpable difference from when he spoke of Edith and the lengthy chat confirmed what he felt he already knew of Edith and Anthony together.

* * *

Edith boarded the early afternoon train from London, consumed with dread. She had promised her mother regular visits back to Downton. She had no trouble making the promise; keeping it was another issue altogether. The early spring afternoon did seem more inviting when one was in the country and could appreciate it. The driver would be waiting for her at the station and she decided to brace herself—having a good time visiting Downton, not _home_ exactly now, but Downton nevertheless _might_ be a possibility, after all.

Michael knew she would be gone for the weekend, but that didn't stop him from making her feel guilty.

"I miss you and our dates together when you're gone," he said. "Can't you just tell them you're terribly busy?" He pleaded with her, sounding like a petulant child.

At first, she'd enjoyed the attention and affection. The whispers though over the past six months had become more obvious; she knew others talked about her lunches with Michael…and sometimes dinners…she held out hope most were unaware of the two trips together on assignment, as they'd left separately for different official reasons. During the two overnight trips nothing yet had happened, save for kisses and protests in the solitude of the hotel rooms. He paid for nice dinners and wanted more, claiming he could give her everything—except marriage and legitimacy—but something held her back. _His wife? No. Yes. Something's just missing…it's just not right. _She tasted bitterness in the back of her throat. _Blue eyes, blonde hair…and the wrong name…and just everything…that's what's wrong with Michael. _Edith chastised herself for even beginning down the long road of regret and past mistakes. Fate would put her on it again soon enough…

* * *

Arriving at the edge of the long Downton drive, the two men shook hands. "I can't thank you enough for this week's work," Tom began.

"It's nothing. I was glad to help. You know where to find me should anything-" Anthony's attention turned though, for out of the corner of his eye appeared a man coming toward them.

At first, the pedestrian appeared to simply be passing by; however, Anthony became suspicious when he recognized him as Riordan from the pub. They had been followed. Tom recognized him as well and the two braced themselves.

"Afternoon, gents," the man said without making eye contact, but the smell of alcohol on him was more than enough of an indicator that he was a threat for trouble in his current state.

"Afternoon," came Tom's terse reply. He waited to see if the man would indeed be smart enough to just pass by, but he wasn't.

"Proud of your upper-class status now, Branson? Filthy traitor." Riordan spat on the ground at Tom's feet.

Anthony stepped in between them and quickly held up his good arm to Tom's chest, trying to defuse the situation. "He's no traitor and you are in no state to quarrel about that point. Please continue on your way."

Riordan mumbled under his breath and took two steps before turning around, brandishing a knife, and lunging with awkward, inebriated effort. The knife disappeared for a moment between the three men as Anthony held his ground between them, pushing Tom to the side. Coming from an angle, Tom overpowered the man, kicking his feet out from under him. The two landed roughly with Tom holding him down, but only barely.

It took a moment to see where the weapon had flown in the fray, but Anthony spotted it and swiped it up with his good hand. Tom struggled to hold Riordan down as he tried to swing and roll him off. Anthony helped in the only way he could by putting his field boot to Riordan's throat and the knife to the other side of his neck now pulsing wildly. Anthony leaned in and stared, "You, Mr. Riordan, are now guilty of attempted murder. Leave immediately. Don't come around again or I'll make certain charges are brought. Today, you've been shown a measure of grace. Get up and go."

Tom gasped, "But Anthony—he—"

Ignoring Tom's shock, Anthony stared again at the drunken fool. "Leave." He managed to get up, stared for a moment at Anthony, down at his abdomen, and then took off running.

"Anthony—why did you—Oh my God." Tom turned to face Anthony and went pale.

"Are you hurt?" Anthony inquired as he dropped to one knee and held his left side.

"No, I'm good—" His eyes grew wide. "What the hell—"

"It's okay. I'm glad—I'm glad you're okay—I just had to push you away when I saw the knife…but it is all right. I just—I need you to get me to Dr. Clarkson, I'm afraid."

Tom grabbed him up, wrapped his right arm underneath Anthony's ribs, and Anthony's left arm around his neck. "You're okay. We're headed up the longest damn drive in the world, but we'll get there. You saved my life, damn you. You're okay…you're okay…" He repeated it, willing himself to believe it as the scarlet red seeped into his own clothes and down Anthony's trousers. "Come on!"

Anthony tried to keep pace. His feet began to stumble and the world around him swam. "No, 'tis not so deep as a well nor so wide as a church-door, but 'tis enough…"

"What?"

"Shakespeare…" Anthony whispered. "I won't bore you with the rest..."

"Shut up already with the nonsense."

Anthony's breathing labored. "Tom, you have to tell Edith—"

"Don't start—I'm not going to bloody well tell her anything." His muscles began to give out and he was now half-dragging Anthony beside him. "You can tell her yourself. Shut the hell up. I'm not fixing this mess—you will. You'll be fine. We're almost there. Hold on…just hold on…"

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading and for your kind reviews! I do appreciate the feedback J I also appreciate you bearing with me given the angsty-psychological issues I've dwelled on a bit through here. I always felt like Anthony was given short shrift in the show because, of course, it's all about the Crawleys. As a viewer, I wanted to see those conflicts played out more in-depth and see the impact Lady Violet and Robert's mixed—and then cruel—messages had on Anthony leading up to his mistake in listening to them rather than his sweet Edith. And Edith and her misguided…well, we'll get to her more later. I'm a tender-hearted romantic and a bit of a realist, if that's possible, and I'm just trying to respect these characters and work them out of the mess they've been put in while staying true to them—which is, without doubt, a challenge. Hope I'm doing them some justice. Thanks again!


	5. Chapter 5

Edith felt the train coming to a halt; she took her purse and luggage and made her way to the platform. Lawrence was late, but after a few minutes she saw him hurrying towards her.

"Lady Edith—my apologies. Please forgive me. You have other luggage?"

"It's fine, thank you. I just have this one bag, so we can go."

"Yes, milady." He took the bag and they walked towards the car, noticing the darkening sky.

* * *

Cool sprinkles of rain began to fall on them. Anthony's feet dragged, and his head hung down with his chin on his chest. Tom could feel the ragged breaths.

"Anthony! Not yet—you can't sleep yet. We're almost there. Please! Just stay awake—stay with me," he pleaded.

"Edith…Tom, please, you have to—" A whisper escaped, as Anthony's hand tried to desperately clutch at Tom's collar, to hold on in some way.

"She'll be here," Tom assured him, tightening his jaw. "You've got to stay with me."

Within seconds, the skies opened on them and the rain pelted down.

* * *

From inside, Mary saw them first. "Mama, is that Tom?"

Cora turned from the tea setting and Isobel and Violet and her smile fell. "Oh…it is, but something seems—

"Help! Mary! Mr. Carson! Cora!" Tom yelled.

Mary and Cora hurried from the room, and Cousin Isobel wasn't far behind. Lady Violet, concerned, but moving a bit slower with her cane, followed.

Carson opened the front door. "What on earth—

"He needs Dr. Clarkson—hurry!"

Stunned, Cora touched Carson's arm. "Call Dr. Clarkson right away. Alfred! James!"

The footmen appeared, hearing the commotion from their nearby posts. "Yes, milady!"

"Out there to help Tom immediately, please." Cora directed. They wasted no time and Isobel was right with them, needing to assess the situation.

"I'll get the others," Mary said. "We'll need supplies to care for whomever he has with him." She stopped for a moment and looked again. "Oh my—it's Strallan? Wh-"

"It doesn't matter—go, go!" Cora pushed her on her way to get help.

Robert appeared from the library. "What is going on? I heard raised voices."

By the time the men reached Tom and they made their way into the front entry of Downton, Anthony lay drenched and lifeless in their arms. His now-saturated clothes began to drip, leaving his blood in the entryway, mixing with the muddy residue of wet shoes and rainfall.

"He's been stabbed. Dr. Clarkson will need a place to clean and repair the wound—where shall we take him?" Isobel asked.

Cora and Robert exchanged looks. "Upstairs, to the nearest bedroom?" Cora offered.

"Very good. Hurry, please." Isobel went ahead upstairs, willing the men to move faster.

"We'll bring up anything he needs," Mrs. Hughes said, looking on. "The maids will take care of the cleaning up right away, milady."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes," Cora touched her arm.

After the group disappeared in the first room upstairs, Tom reappeared and called down to Cora and Carson. "Where's Clarkson? Is he coming? For God's sake, the man's bleeding to death!"

"On his way!" Carson answered. "Milord, the maids are gathering linens and hot water—they'll be up shortly. I'll have Alfred and Jimmy build a fire to warm the room. We have a few medical supplies left over from the war, if they're still any good, of course. I'll also place a call to Locksley as well to let the staff know what's happened. I'm sure Stewart can be over shortly with necessities."

Robert still tried to catch up. "Good, Carson. What has happened? What's he even doing here?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Cora responded. "Tom will fill us in as soon as he comes down."

Isobel and the servants had already gathered the linens and she took charge upstairs, shooing the footmen out once they'd placed Anthony on the bed. Tom applied pressure as Isobel instructed. Anthony groaned intermittently. He was slipping in and out of consciousness, murmuring incoherently. Isobel and Tom managed to remove his shirt and trousers, tossing the now-blood-and-rain-soaked clothes to the floor. As he tried to staunch the bleeding, Tom couldn't take his eyes off Anthony's right shoulder and arm.

"It's just scars, Tom. Are you alright?"

He could only nod, feeling slightly unnerved, but finally focusing on the open wound and the pressure he was applying.

Isobel quickly wiped up the drying blood on his body, washing near the wound to make it as ready as possible for Dr. Clarkson to repair. She brought the covers up over him and noticed Anthony beginning to shiver.

Tom whispered, "Is he going to make it?"

"Yes, I think he will. He's been through worse than this," she assured him. "He's going into a bit of shock, I'm afraid, that's all. The rain's given him a bit of a chill though, too. He'll be fine, Tom."

"He saved my life."

She smiled, "I'm not surprised."

Tom continued to apply pressure, but Anthony's body was still shivering under the blankets and it frightened Tom.

"Anthony, you're okay. Dr. Clarkson's on his way. You're going to be fine." Isobel tried to remain calm herself, but time was of the essence.

Alfred and Jimmy returned with Ivy and began to build a fire to warm the room against the rainy, early evening chill.

* * *

Downstairs, Robert and Cora turned to one another, then to Violet in the entryway surveying the blood trail that had been left by Anthony's wounded body. "Oh dear," she said. Then, a thought occurred to her. "When's Edith arriving?" They exchanged identical looks.

Then, Cora said, "Robert, we should just tell her as soon as she arrives—she's going to find out anyway."

"No, we can send him to hospital in the morning; Clarkson can take care of him discreetly upstairs and we can keep her down here until dinner." When he saw Cora wasn't convinced, he added, "The man _jilted _her, Cora, do you really think she will want to see him?" His voice louder than intended.

Cora looked up at her husband. "Yes, she will, and yes, I'm going to tell her."

"Does my opinion matter not at all to you?" Violet asked.

"It does matter, but I've had my doubts about your understanding of your granddaughter…and of Anthony, for that matter—more importantly, of them as a couple." Cora tried to be diplomatic.

Robert opened his mouth to reply, but Carson interrupted by escorting Dr. Clarkson in and up to the room at as quick a pace as possible—Clarkson taking the stairs two at a time, almost charging into the footmen and Ivy as they returned downstairs.

Alone again, Robert said, "And exactly what am I—we—what are we 'misunderstanding'?"

"She loves him."

"Of course, she loved him—" Robert began.

"She was desperate, you mean," Violet said.

"No and no, and I mean that with all due respect. I believe Edith does _love_ him—present tense." Cora nodded to answer Robert's questioning stare.

"Even now? Why? How could she…It's been over a year-and-a-half since she saw him! Since he embarrassed, no—_humiliated_—this family-" He couldn't fathom it. "Besides, Strallan merely placated and graciously accepted her attentions, he wasn't _in love_, they were both just—I mean, of course, he thought she was _different_, perhaps, but it's not as though he had any other options or ways of spending his—" He stopped rationalizing.

His wife merely shook her head and gave a sad smile, "No, Robert. I think where _we _saw desperation, _they _had something else entirely. He did as you asked him to—staying away—because he's a good and honorable man."

"Honorable!" Robert gasped.

"May I finish?"

"I'm sure nothing could stop you," Violet spouted.

"I think when you invited him back and the courtship and then the wedding came, perhaps it caught up to him and he just couldn't stand knowing you both disapproved. Very possibly, he thought you were right and he wanted something more for Edith, too—_because_ he _loves_ her." She shot a meaningful glance in Violet's direction. "I'd wondered for a while, but the way he was talked about and his arm and his age and Edith... Anthony knew, Robert. He's not blind to his own situation. He had to have known given the lack of discretion with some of the looks and comments—my goodness, look at what he did in order to satisfy you two, and give Edith a better life, although in a misguided way. No one has seen or heard from him since. He's practically vanished, no doubt due to the feelings of shame."

Robert and Violet stared, incredulous.

Cora continued, undaunted, "I am certain that they would have been married for years now had the war not happened; in fact, remembering the two of them together at _this _house during dinner and afterwards and the looks they shared, not to mention the afternoons spent together... We've never seen Edith like that, Robert, before or since, and I imagine Anthony, ever-the-polite-gentleman-Anthony, might have felt the same way. I would even say that he's never gotten over that day at the altar…or his own actions or feelings…or Edith."

"Well, she has certainly moved on from him and thank goodness!"

Cora didn't back down. "Might you even consider the—"

"Cora, your romantic notions are just that—and I urge you not to dwell on them. You should not let Edith pine away for the past; it cannot be undone. She wasted enough of her life chasing him and to return to it would be a disaster," Violet huffed, still smarting at Cora's spirited conjecture. "I'll have Lawrence drive me home as soon as he returns with Edith."

Cora looked at her husband. Robert, caught once again between his mother and his wife, thanked Carson silently as he intervened.

"Milord, Dr. Clarkson's working now. The maids are tidying the floors and getting rid of any…stains."

"Thank you, Carson." Robert paused, considering Cora's words. "Carson—please send Lady Edith to the library when she arrives. We'll be in there awaiting further news on Sir Anthony. Also, please have Lawrence ready to return Lady Grantham home when he arrives."

"Very good, milord."

"Oh, and Carson—is Lady Mary upstairs or-?"

He nodded. "With the baby, milord; she appeared a bit shaken. She needed to see about him, is all she said."

"Thank you, Carson."

Cora linked her arm with her husband's and leaned into him as the two approached the library, Violet following behind. "I pray Sir Anthony will make it through this—I think, if nothing else, the two of them deserve to talk together," she said, almost in a whisper.

"He'll be fine. I'm sure the war was much worse on him, whatever happened there; of course, we don't know how bad the injury from today is just yet. I'm eager to hear from Tom though. This whole business seems odd."

"I agree. I'm sure he'll be down when Clarkson has things under control."

* * *

The rain slowed to a steady drizzle as Lawrence turned the car into the drive. "Dr. Clarkson's here, milady."

Edith peered out the window. "I hope it's nothing with the children. Do hurry, Lawrence, please."

* * *

Cora sat down and Robert remained standing, staring vacantly at the library. Edith entered, a worried expression already showing. "My goodness—hello! I don't know what's going on, but everyone's upset or furiously busy. What's Dr. Clarkson doing here? I hope neither of the children is ill?" She looked from her mother to her father, waiting.

Violet rose, "Everything will be fine, dear." She hugged Edith for a moment, and gave a warning glance to Robert as she left.

Edith waited another moment. "Is someone going to tell me what that means? 'Everything will be fine, dear.' I can't stand the suspense—what is it? Who's ill?"

Cora started, "No one's ill, dear, not exactly—"

"Edith, Anthony Strallan was injured, perhaps seriously, this afternoon."

"What?" Her mind was trying to catch up with the words her father had just spoken. "Wh—"

"He's upstairs now and Dr. Clarkson's taking care of him. Edith, do sit down. I know this is a shock-" Robert tried to take her elbow to steady her.

She shuddered, pulling away from him. "No, no—I—I don't want to sit down. Where? Which room is he-? Does he-" Edith ran out of the library and up the stairs, pausing only for a moment to notice the maids cleaning. "Oh my God," she whispered, realizing the focus of their efforts and the color of the stain. She hurried up the stairs, waiting only for an instant before continuing to the room where she heard the frantic voices of Dr. Clarkson and Tom.


	6. Chapter 6

Tom turned as the door opened. Edith tried to comprehend the scene playing out in front of her.

Isobel had cleaned the wound and she and Dr. Clarkson looked to be closing it. Blood appeared to Edith to be everywhere. She opened her mouth, but stopped.

Anthony stirred, wincing from the pain.

"A bit more sedative—he needs to be out for this, and I want to make certain he sleeps for hours," Dr. Clarkson instructed.

"Tom? What—" Edith began. She started to try to walk to the other side of the bed.

Tom reached for her. "No, Edith—let's go. They'll be done and you can come back shortly, but not now. This isn't good for you."

Edith tried to pull away, get closer to Anthony, but Tom was too strong and pulled her to him—embracing her. "You can't do this right now. He's going to be fine, but let them finish."

She cried to him, "I was a nurse for years, Tom—let me go! I've taken care of hundreds of men!"

"But none of them named Anthony Strallan!" Tom whispered in her ear, a bit too forceful, and knew his words had landed the moment he said them. "I'm sorry, Edith. I'm sorry." He saw the tears.

Tom relinquished his grip, Edith turned away from him, and she watched for a moment more. Tom gently whispered to her from behind. "He'll be alright, I promise."

Edith couldn't quite believe that just yet. Anthony lay there, ashen on the bed, the wound almost completely closed.

Isobel readied the gauze bandages to cover it and keep it clean; she glanced at Edith and nodded for her to go. "Dr. Clarkson will be down shortly, Edith."

Tom took her by the elbow and they stood in the hallway, him closing the door behind them. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "He has to know I'm here, Tom," she said. "I just need him—I need him to know I'm—"

Tom held her tight. "He knows. I told him you were coming. It'll be alright. Shhh…"

When she did break the embrace, she noticed Tom's clothing. "Oh my God—Tom, you have to tell me what happened! How did he—"

* * *

Downstairs in the library, Cora and Robert waited.

"Cora, I know you're confident in this theory of yours about our daughter and Anthony, but we can't be certain of anything yet. He still walked away from her, and it was still his choice to do so."

"Robert, I'm not saying that he's not responsible for his actions—he is. I'm just offering the possibility that he's not the sort of man who would do such a thing without feeling like it was his only option; you and I both know how your mother can be with her comments," Cora raised her eyebrows.

Robert exhaled. "Of course, I know…"

"I'm just of the mind that this may be forgivable and he may, in fact, be the right man for our daughter..."

* * *

Dr. Clarkson opened the bedroom door and Tom and Edith started at the surprise. "My apologies. I didn't mean to alarm you. Shall we go to the library and talk? Mrs. Crawley is going to stay here with him and then you can return, if you like."

"Of course." Tom, though still wearing his wet and stained clothes, kept an arm around Edith walking down the stairs and the three of them interrupted a warming discussion.

"Cora, his situation has not changed! He's still old and still crippled—"

"Robert! Do you realize how you sound?"

"Harsh—I know it's harsh, but I'm still furious with the scene that was made and everything else. He's still and will always be unsuitable for Edith. Instead of facing things and being honorable, Strallan behaved like a coward—"

The two turned when they heard Edith gasp. Shocked, and filled with fury, she began, "How could you—"

Before Tom could, Dr. Clarkson intervened; a stern look shadowing his features. "Excuse me, Lord Grantham, with all due respect, and I know we've come upon a private conversation, forgive me, but I couldn't help but hear it. I will not listen to Major Strallan be referred to under any circumstances as a coward. The medals that grace the man's uniform—which he is too modest to let see the light of day—speak otherwise of his character. His past mistakes have another cause which is not cowardice, I'm certain."

An awkward silence ensued, but Robert spoke first. "Carson, we could use some brandy please for Tom and Dr. Clarkson."

"Very good, milord."

"Shall I fill you in?" Clarkson asked.

Robert took a seat next to Cora, who watched Edith in earnest—hurting for her daughter. Dr. Clarkson sat across from them. Tom guided Edith over to the chairs nearest the hearth.

"The wound is not as severe as it might have been," he began. "We cleaned it as best we could and closed it, but there's always a chance of infection. We've taken precautions, but there are no guarantees."

"So he's going to live?" Robert asked.

"There are no guarantees, Lord Grantham, but—barring any major complications—I think he has a good chance, yes. The infection might set in soon, so we need to keep an eye on the wound itself and monitor for fever." He took a deep breath. "He's lost quite a bit of blood, I'm afraid, which means he'll be very weak for a while—several days, minimum. He's been through worse—God knows during the war when he—" He paused, his fatigue almost allowing him to slip. "Sorry, I can't go into details of his war record. Rest assured though that this is by no means the worst physical trauma he's faced, though it is still quite critical."

Edith took a breath. "He'll need someone with him at all times, Dr. Clarkson."

"Yes, Lady Edith. Mrs. Crawley has said she—"

"I'll be with him." All heads turned to stare at Edith. "Mrs. Crawley is very kind to offer, but I have nursing experience and will be here anyway."

Carson entered with the brandy.

Dr. Clarkson hesitated, awaiting a family argument, and then took a drink. "Uh, well, he does need someone there—yes. With the sedative he should sleep, but these sorts of events seem to bring about—disturbances—nightmares. He'll rest, most likely, but if one does occur he may—he may require restraint so as not to create further injury."

Robert looked at Edith, concerned, but bewildered. "Edith, we can't let you alone—"

Tom spoke up, "I'll be in there, too. The man saved my life; it's the least I can do is stay and help him a bit. Besides," he turned to Edith, "the man's stronger than he looks and you'll need a hand if he tries to get up or move much at all."

"If you'll excuse me, I can't wait any longer. I need to be with him," Edith stood, and hurried from the room again.

Robert turned on Tom, "What on earth happened? What were you doing with Strallan anyway?"

* * *

Once upstairs, Edith accepted a hug from Isobel and then asked to be left alone with Anthony. "He'll need a fresh bandage affixed a bit later—just want to make sure it stays clean."

"I'll see to it, of course," Edith nodded, not taking her eyes off of him.

As soon as Isobel left, Edith went to the right side of the large bed, crawled into the empty space beside him, and stared, seeing for the first time the mangled and damaged skin she'd tried to imagine so many times. Her eyes, already red and swollen, welled again. She reached out to him; her touch caressed his brow and then his hair on the pillow. She moved closer, lay down beside him, and nestled her head on his ruined shoulder. The intimacy of the position, the touch and scent of him, did not escape her. Anthony Strallan, awake and coherent, would have put up appropriate gentlemanly barriers of propriety to prevent this; Edith smiled at the thought of his protests. She remembered his chaste-yet-tantalizing kisses and tender touches while they were courting, with the promise of more…he had always left her wanting him more, though she suspected he would be too shy and diffident to believe the effect he had on her.

Nothing she remembered from the war prepared her for the sight. It contrasted so horribly to the smooth, taut skin and lean muscle of his bare chest. Her tears flowed down her cheeks and settling and absorbing into his scar and the pillow. She whispered in hopes he heard her, "I'm here, my love." She repeated it again and again, while her fingers lightly traced the scars on his shoulder and arm—imprinting them in her mind. Knowing this injury—one of their many adversaries—that had hurt him so irrevocably, knowing it so she could face it and everything it wrought with him when he awakened…

Edith lifted her head and studied the bandage on his left side, which now showed signs of a bit-not much-blood seeping through. The stitches and gauze were working.

Anthony mumbled in his sleep, his face pale and in pain. "Sshhh…" She leaned closer, kissing his cheek, lingering beside him. His skin felt surprisingly warm now. _We're so close_, she thought. "I'm right here. I won't leave you. We're together and I'm not letting you—or anything else—part us again, Anthony Strallan."


	7. Chapter 7

Stewart had come by and delivered a bag for Anthony, and it was put aside in the room; Stewart asked to see him, saying a prayer, and then letting Carson know that he would come and stay whenever necessary to make certain Anthony was taken care of.

Rev. Travis was called, just in case, Robert had said. He, too, offered a prayer and kind words before leaving after dinner.

Edith refused dinner. Tom sat in the chair closest to the fire. He'd changed his clothes and cleaned up and was eating off of the tray Ivy brought to them.

"It wasn't quite as bad as a full-blown inquisition," he muttered.

Edith sat in a chair by Anthony's right side. She was changing the bandage. She used the hot water and a clean cloth, trying to be gentle though she felt him tense involuntarily at the heat and pressure. "It's over, darling. It's all right," she soothed.

"One day he'll forgive me, I suppose, but I really don't care. It's done. Anthony knew things I didn't and he was the right one to go to," Tom said, in between bites.

Edith nodded. "Perfectly understandable. He's quite knowledgeable—brilliant, really." She took Anthony's hand, wishing they were alone again, wanting to curl up beside him. "Tom?"

"Hmm?"

"Did he mention me at all? You know, while you were working with him this week?"

Tom swallowed hard. "Yes." Tom was uncertain how much he should say, not wanting to betray Anthony's confidence.

"Is he—did he say why he—"

"Edith—the point that I'm going to make so as not to put myself in the middle of you two and not put words in his mouth—is to say this: When we talked about you, a person would have to be blind not to see how he felt. When he was stabbed, the only concern he had—after he asked me if I was okay—was you. I'm leaving everything up to you two; you're both more than capable of making your own decisions."

"How much does he know—about Michael?" Edith asked, wiping away a tear.

Tom sighed. "Edith—"

"How much, Tom?"

"He knows the man's married and he knows he's been seeing you, but that's really all I know, too, so I didn't have too much else—"

"I know. I know—it's enough. It's all right. Nothing—there's nothing else to know." Edith hesitated. "I'm sorry, Tom, for putting you in that position. I know when you came to London you certainly weren't expecting to find us together and—

"You don't have to explain. You were just eating dinner; it's none of my business."

"I just don't want you to think of me as—"

"Edith, I don't have a bad opinion of you. The only thing I think right now is that Anthony is here and he's one of the best men I've ever known and Michael—his crazy situation or not—can't possibly compare because he's just all wrong…and those opinions don't matter anyway because you only love one of them. Am I right?"

Edith looked away from Anthony for the first time. "Yes. But my love wasn't enough for him the first time…what makes you think it'll be different now?"

"Love was never the problem. I can tell this time's different because you both know what you're facing. Edith, you know your family—maybe you just didn't recognize what they were doing to him…what he was up against…and now-" He gestured towards Anthony and pointed to the scars that had left him shaken earlier, "Well, now you have no doubt what he's been living with...God knows the demons... In some ways, it's like with me and Sybil-you two have got to find your own way no matter what anyone else says."

* * *

It was late into the evening when Anthony's eyes fluttered open for a moment, closed again. "Hurry…run," he slurred. His body shook with chills.

Edith turned back to him. "Anthony, it's all right." She reached to touch his cheek. "He's burning up." She grabbed a cloth and dipped it in the now cooled water, placing it on his forehead.

Tom came up to stand behind her. "Should I get Dr. Clarkson?"

"No. Not yet," she said, anxious. "Well, maybe just let him know that it's started."

Tom hurried out the door. When he returned with Dr. Clarkson and Isobel, Cora and Robert were with them.

Dr. Clarkson felt Anthony's head and neck. "It's normal for the body to react to this sort of injury with a fever. If the medicine we administered works—and he'll need doses every few hours—then the fever should break, hopefully sooner rather than later. Don't leave him alone. The fever may cause delirium and, as I said earlier, he'll need someone here."

Edith didn't react, just continued to hold Anthony's hand and use the other to apply the cool cloth. Cora spoke first, "Of course, Dr. Clarkson. We'll make certain and call you as soon as there's a change."

"I can stay if—"

"No, we're here," Edith assured him. "We'll call if there's a change—thank you for all you've done."

"Yes, well, Mrs. Crawley can—"

"Yes, I'll cover the dosing with you now before I go," Isobel said to Edith.

"Of course, well, I'll check back first thing in the morning," Dr. Clarkson said.

"Thank you, Dr. Clarkson," Robert said. "I'll walk down with you."

"Mrs. Crawley?" Dr. Clarkson asked. "May I return you home?"

"Yes, thank you, Doctor." Isobel instructed Edith briefly. "He'll be fine—he's in good hands, I know."

Cora hugged Isobel good night and then stood beside Edith. "Darling, do you need anything? Can we bring—"

"I don't need anything, Mama—except for this fever to break, for him to wake up."

"Edith, I'm sorry you walked in earlier when—"

"It's fine, Mama, really. I don't expect you to understand. Neither of you ever have. And, yes, I'm well aware that 'his situation,' as Papa put it, hasn't changed—that he's crippled and that he left me—and it doesn't change how I feel or what I want. It's been Anthony since 1914 and it's always going to be him, no matter what I do or how you and Papa and Granny feel."

Tom recognized his cue to exit a bit late. "Excuse me, I'm going to see about Sybil before she goes to sleep."

Edith pulled the covers up tighter over Anthony, sitting beside him on the bed and dabbing the damp cloth on his head and neck.

"Edith, I want you to know that I'm on your side. I'm trying to get through to your father because I know how much Anthony needed his blessing—that's just how these gentlemen are, dear—and it will be even more difficult given what happened. I can see how you feel about him and I know with both—Anthony and your father—the two of us have a difficult road to convince them. You know Anthony may still be reluctant? That he only wants what's best for you, I think, and...before, on that day, he came to the conclusion that it wasn't him?" Cora frowned, fearful of her daughter's reaction.

Edith only nodded. She remained by Anthony, focusing on the rhythm of his shallow breaths.

"Tom and I were just talking about that very point. I know, Mama—thank you."

"It's late—"

"I know. Anna is bringing me a change of clothes and Tom will be back soon from putting Sybil to bed. Good night."

Cora gave her daughter a kiss on the temple. "Good night, darling."

Tom returned within a few minutes of Cora's departure to find Edith in fresh nightclothes beside Anthony on the bed, her arms wrapped around him, anything to comfort him and ward off the fever. She finally fell asleep beside him hours later when the chills ceased and his fever began to weaken. Only once did his cry from a nightmare awaken them both—scaring Tom out of the chair and causing him to lurch forward to keep Anthony stable on the bed. The moment frightened Edith. After calming him and checking his wound, it still took her heart several minutes to recover. Anthony eventually slipped off again into unconsciousness, Edith's arms cradling his head and shoulders as they lay together against the pillows.

* * *

When Cora and Anna opened the door early the next morning, the fire needed tending and Tom and Edith—both disheveled from little sleep and plenty of worry—remained asleep. Neither woman commented directly on Edith's position on top of the covers embracing Anthony.

"I'll send Alfred up in a bit to take care of the fire. It looks like they've had a rough night," Anna said.

"Very good plan," Cora affirmed. "We'll let them rest. I think Anthony already looks healthier than last night—poor man resembled a ghost."

Anna smiled, "He does have an excellent nurse."

"I suppose it helps to have one who loves you looking after you," Cora said.

Tom, vaguely aware of the bedroom door closing, stirred in the chair. He looked at Anthony and Edith still sleeping and decided to check on Sybil and see about breakfast.

* * *

Anthony's eyes blinked; he stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. He felt cold, soaked in sweat from the fever breaking and the heavy blankets covering his lower half were in stark contrast to his bare chest exposed to the cool morning air of the room. The room appeared mostly dark; the fire was almost out. He tried to get his bearings—_Downton?_ He felt searing pain come from his left side, just under his ribs and his left hand felt for the bandage. The rush of the previous afternoon's altercation came back and he remembered the knife—and Tom. _Where's Tom? _When he tried to lift his head to see the wound, he realized he was being held and turned to his right side. _This can't be real_. _Edith? _Her arms around him and her head resting just above his shoulder on the pillow centimeters from his… He laid his head back on the pillow and watched her, feeling her breathing beside him. _We're so close_. He lifted his hand to caress her cheek, brush back a curl from her temple—and then, as he was about to touch her, he panicked. Sheer fright at the thought of their current positions in the same bed—at Downton—overtook him.

"Edith?" His hoarse, urgent whisper shattered the silence and startled Edith awake.

Her beautiful eyes opened wide instantly and, before he could stutter or attempt another word, she covered his lips with her hand. "Ssshhhh—it's okay. Don't be alarmed." She looked around the room to see if they were alone.

He tried to speak, but she refused to move her fingers and he was mesmerized by her. "Anthony—it's okay. They know I'm in here with you."

"In bed?" He insisted, his breath warm against her fingers.

She laughed, delighting to hear his voice and to see his clear, blue eyes, and then, overwhelmed with relief, she cried. "Yes, in here with you…"

The sudden eruption of tears surprised him. "No, no, don't cry," he said, but his voice was cracking and faded from dehydration.

Edith's hand touched his now-slightly-bearded cheeks and traced his lips again as her tears continued to fall. Instead of trying to talk or protest or question this moment, he gave in, needing to comfort her; gently, he tucked her head to his shoulder and then gathered her fingers—still tracing his mouth and the line of his jaw—and touched his lips to them, and held them to his chest. In the quiet that followed, the panic subsided within him, as did her tears, and, holding her close to him, feeling her against his skin, Anthony felt peace for the first time since before the war in 1914.

* * *

A/N: _Thank you for reading and the lovely reviews and follows and favorites! I do appreciate them very much! I know that some of you aren't keen on the darker stuff, so I ask your forgiveness and hope you will continue to read (and maybe even enjoy? fingers crossed!) this story. I can promise things are looking up now that our protagonist is awake and sans fever and, oh yeah, Edith's with him—which is where she should be. I hope you're pleased with the journey thus far…_


	8. Chapter 8

Edith got up only to bring Anthony some water to drink, but returned to lie beside him. He'd never held her like this, certainly not without at least four layers of clothing between the two of them, and definitely not in bed—particularly in a bed at Downton. The peace and the shock of having her there with him so intimately lasted only the few short moments it took to drink the water, and then comfort her before the grogginess from the sedative wore off and the pain in his side sobered him to the terror of one realization: _My arm_. All reason left him in that moment as his demons returned with such ferocity he no longer recalled all of his romantic imaginings: the possibilities of Edith loving him despite the repulsive sight of his shoulder and arm; all that came to mind were the insidious nightmares of her rejecting him and leaving him, broken again and unworthy. He started to pull away from her, to reach for the covers—to shield her from seeing him.

Edith felt his body shift, and lifted her head, "What is it? Anthony—"

"I don't want you to see—"

She instantly reached for his good hand to stop him. Sitting up and kneeling beside him, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and whispered in his ear. "I've already seen you—seen the scars."

"Please, Edith—you can't—" At the sound of his voice breaking, Edith felt her own eyes prick with tears, shutting them tight as she held him.

"Anthony, please listen—"

He pulled away from her, his eyes moist and his voice frantic, the words spilling out of him uncontrollably, "I don't want you to have to see—it's appalling. No one should have to see it! You don't understand, Edith—no one should have to _live _to see it! I should've just died there; I've wanted to die so many times...and why not? When better men than me did die—why did I come back? For what? My injury isn't even the worst there is, darling; I was lucky in just losing an arm, but it doesn't matter because I'm _still_ ruined. I _can't _have you—I can't do that to you! You don't want me—don't you see that—can't you—"

She saw his exhaustion, the raw nerves of emotion—distress not just from the trauma of the war, but his current condition—overwhelming him. Edith quieted him, covering his lips once more with the touch of her fingers. "Please don't—please. You're hurt—you don't need to do this now...please rest…"

Edith used both hands to coax him into lying back on the bed. He grimaced from the pain of having tried to sit up, touching the dressing on his side to ensure its integrity. Then, she forced him to look up into her eyes as she leaned close to him, one hand feathering through his hair, "Don't say anything, please, just—just listen to me? I love you—no matter what happened before or why—I love you. And I daresay in the last hours I have traced and kissed this beautiful, ruined part of you a hundred times and I'm not going to let you—or any of them—use it as a reason to keep us apart. Anthony, I—I won't let you do it again—do you understand? I won't let you…" Trembling, she attempted to compose herself to no avail.

Seeing her hurting, all Anthony could do-all he wanted to do in his wearied state-was submit.

He brushed away her tears, "Shhh, my darling. I'm so sorry—so terribly sorry for hurting you—us—sshhh…come here." His fingers stroked her tousled curls from her face and pulled her down to hold her—but Edith's lips found his, and Anthony—hesitant first—then conceding—responded tenderly with sweet, urgent kisses put off for far too long. Anthony couldn't explain the change that came with those moments holding her, tasting her; the feel of her hands on his chest, his shoulders, holding him shattered something more than a physical barrier between the two of them. The words failed to come to mind—the ability to describe or comprehend the jolt her nearness, the intimacy, the honesty caused in him…something altered in the most profound way, but he couldn't name it.

"Edith- "

"I know," she said, against his lips. "I know we haven't fixed everything…but will you at least let us—"

His head on the pillow, her face above him, he looked into her eyes and nodded. "Yes, but—"

"No, Anthony. Not now—you're tired; I'm so sorry for this…I shouldn't have let this become so—intense." She smiled, apologetic and gave him one more kiss, feeling him tense and reach for his side.

Edith, still on his right, leaned over him and was examining the slight bleeding when a knock at the door startled them into separation. Edith hurried from the bed and Anthony pulled the covers up over his right arm, realizing suddenly the amount of pain he was in from the medicine wearing off.

"Good morning," Tom said.

"Good morning," Edith replied.

"It must be," he smiled, seeing the obvious pink in her cheeks. "How's Anthony?"

She let Tom walk past her and greet Anthony, still with a smile. "Morning, Sir."

"Tom—good morning." Anthony was holding his side. "Edith, I think the dressing—

"Yes, yes. I'll get it—and you probably need something for the pain?"

"Actually, yes."

"You look a bit better—tired, of course, but at least coherent and without fever this morning. You think it's the excellent medical staff around here?" Tom asked, looking from one of them to the other.

"Possibly," Anthony answered, a shy smile playing on his lips. Then, a thought occurred to him: "I apologize if there were any indiscretions—nightmares—that disrupted your sleep." He kept his eyes on Edith as she busied herself with the medical supplies and the dressing.

"Just one," Tom answered. "It just scared us a bit, but it wasn't long and you were fine after that."

"Only one? Then, yes, it must be the excellent medical staff here," he paused, Edith looking up at him for the moment. "Usually there are more; last night was a good night."

Tom looked away, embarrassed by his presence during this moment of closeness between them-no doubt both aware and appreciative of how they woke up together…how they spent the past night.

Tom waited and then cleared his throat. "Dr. Clarkson called and said he'd be here in just a bit. Your fever's completely gone then?"

"Seems to be—yes—"

"We'll still need to keep an eye on him—these things can change quickly," Edith interrupted.

Tom nodded in emphatic agreement. "Yes, of course. Breakfast is ready. Edith, why don't you go down and eat something while I stay with him. You could probably use a break." Tom knew she hadn't really slept well, nor had she eaten since arriving the previous afternoon.

Edith looked to Anthony first; he nodded. "I need you to take care of yourself before you can look after me, sweet one."

She smiled. "All right, then. I'll leave you—very reluctantly—and be back soon. I do want you to rest while I'm gone."

"Yes, I can feel keenly the depletion of my vital fluids…I don't think I could stand up if I had to," Anthony admitted.

"Luckily, you don't have to, nor should you. Tom, there are your orders: make sure he rests."

"Yes, milady." Tom smirked.

Edith looked at Anthony one more time, holding his hand in hers. "I'll have them prepare a tray for you, too, if you think you're up to a bit of food?"

"Just a bit, not much. Thank you."

Edith went out to clean up and get breakfast, leaving the two men alone for only a moment before Alfred entered after knocking. "Just taking care of the fire, sir."

"Of course—thank you, Alfred," Tom said, taking Edith's chair beside Anthony's bed.

Anthony's eyes were beginning to lose focus from fatigue and the medicine. Alfred built up the fire again and Tom waited until they were alone to speak.

"I take it you two had a chance to talk?"

Anthony felt himself drifting back into much-needed sleep, the pain already dissipating. "A little."

"It went well?" Tom asked, trying to catch him before he was out. Then, giving up, "Anthony, Dr. Clarkson'll be—"

Tom didn't bother finishing; Anthony's breathing had deepened and he was unconscious again.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Thank you again so much for the reviews and follows and favorites! The previous chapter was difficult, but—I felt—important to include because Anthony can't put up defenses any longer…well, he can try, but Edith's been let in, so to speak…shattering to pieces in front of her is what allows her to put him—and the two of them—back together again. Anyhow, I hope I didn't cause you to lose your faith in me. I do very much appreciate knowing what you think and, as always, I hope you're enjoying what you're finding here as much as I'm enjoying writing it. To reassure you…I've already written part of the happy ending; however, the journey's still going to take a little while. A few more dragons to slay…

* * *

Edith went to her room first, freshening up a bit and changing, and then downstairs to get breakfast.

Before entering, she paused and heard her father's arrogant tone. "I want him out of Downton as soon as he's able; that's not inappropriate. Strallan will probably want to leave as soon as he's able to stand and walk anyway. She shouldn't be around him, Cora—besides, what about this Gregson chap? She's moved on with him, right? We never have found out more about him and it's been—"

"Good morning."

Cora flashed a warning look to Robert. "Good morning, dear. How are you? How's Anthony?"

Edith didn't sit down, but took the empty plate and filled it. "Improving, but still very weak."

She heard Robert huff at her final word; he was met by glares from both his daughter and his wife.

"I'm going upstairs to eat," Edith added, the chill evident in her voice.

"Edith, I'm sorry," Robert stood. "I'm sorry. I cannot ignore what he did—"

"It's over, Papa. What he did is in the past—how I feel about him, however, is not. All I ask is that while he's here you stay away from him, please."

"Edith, you can't think that there's a future—"

"Papa, you've never quite cared what I _think_, so why start now?" Edith walked out.

Cora kept Robert from following. "Sit down, Robert—let her go."

He frowned. "What on earth does she see in him?"

"Robert, if he were ten years younger and had two good arms—what do you think she would see in him?"

Confused by the question, Robert had no real response.

Cora half-smiled, pitying his complete bewilderment. "That's how she sees him, dear—he's wonderful in her eyes. He's handsome, intelligent, sweet—"

Robert balked at the description, staring in disbelief at his wife. "Wh—"

"When we're in love, we see the most wonderful things in the other person," she explained.

Edith stood just outside the breakfast room, listening to her mother's surprising and compassionate defense.

"Yes, but how can she be blind to the realities that come with him?"

"Oh, Robert—don't be fooled. She's not blind to them. Just because she wants to care for him doesn't mean that she wants to _just _be his nurse—how absurd—"

"Cora, he's boring, dull, bookish, annoyingly punctual _and progressive_, and entirely too…"

_Perfect_, Edith thought. _He's perfect to me. You sound jealous, Papa—like you've rehearsed this list many times…_

Robert tried to think of something, but failed. "Need I mention again—that he walked out on her?"

Cora sighed. "No, you needn't." She stood, tired of the same conversation and her husband's stubborn mentality.

"Cora, I am sorry. I only want what's best for her."

"Hmmm—then I suggest you do as she asked and stay away from him, Robert. If you're so convinced that he's wrong for her, then let them find that out together instead of interfering."

"I didn't interfere the first time—I gave him my blessing and _he walked away_."

"No, you didn't, Robert—you gave him a lukewarm reception with half-hearted agreement—you said so yourself that day when the arrangements were made. And he got a full dose of your mother's barely-concealed scorn the entire month leading up to the wedding."

Edith clasped her open hand to her mouth, almost dropping the plate. _How could he? _Then, she recalled her mother's words from the previous night: "_I'm trying to get through to your father because I know how much Anthony needed his blessing—that's just how these gentlemen are, dear…"_ Edith couldn't see it at the time, too focused on him, too happy, to see her family and the harm being done to him by their first-open and then-veiled disapproval. She remembered the first note from Anthony—the directions from Robert to cease contact with her, that it was wrong for them to continue seeing one another; it was there even then. The wedding. Anthony's plea to Robert, "_It's wrong—you know it's wrong. You said so…" _The dismay and utter confusion from that day at the altar kept her from fully comprehending Anthony's words until now. An hour ago she held him, seeing for the first time how broken and vulnerable he was… Edith could only consider: How many? How many careless or cruel, purposeful remarks had there been? How many thoughtless words or looks to compound his doubts and fears—his age, his arm, his compromised sense of honor in stealing her life? Worse, how many of _her _words shook his faith in them, in the life they were so desperately looking forward to together?

Edith hurried up the stairs, needing to be near him.

Tom turned when the door opened. "Hello. Are you all right?"

Edith looked at Anthony first, sleeping. She didn't take her eyes from him. "Yes, I think so."

"Are you sure? You look—"

"Tom—I'm fine, really. I just didn't realize, as you said last night, what we were dealing with in regards to my family and their—behavior. Knowing Anthony—now—I think I better understand what happened…why he…let me go. But he was wrong," she cried. "I probably messed this up and said things like the rest of them, but Tom—I didn't mean…"

He walked over to her, taking the plate and setting it down, before putting his arm around her. "Edith, don't—"

"He wanted—needed—their approval, Tom, and they made him feel—like he was wrong, like he was stealing my life and dishonoring me by doing it—by marrying me—"

"Ssshhh—"

Edith sobbed into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry. I feel like I let it happen—I didn't know he—not until now—I didn't know…"

Tom waited for her to calm down. Before he could talk, a knock came at the door.

"Come in."

Dr. Clarkson entered. "Sorry to interrupt—just wanted to check on Sir Strallan. How did he do during the night?"

Edith spoke first, "Fine. The fever broke this morning and the dressing seems to be working."

"Any nightmares?"

"Just one," Edith replied. "He cried out just the one time, but Tom and I were here, and he settled back down pretty easily."

"Very good," Dr. Clarkson said, checking the wound. "I won't try to wake him—the medicine is working and the sedative is helping him rest?"

Tom and Edith nodded.

"I'll call later this evening then. No need to come back out again until tomorrow. We won't want to let him move for at least a couple of days. After that we'll look at moving him to hospital or home to Locksley."

Tom nodded, shaking Clarkson's hand. "Thank you."

After Dr. Clarkson left, Edith went to the bed and climbed in beside him, stroking his hair as he slept. "Two days, at least…and then we're going home to Locksley."


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: I apologize for the length, but hope it's worth it...thank you for reading!

* * *

The upstairs of Downton remained respectfully quiet. Edith kept her vigil in Anthony's room all day and into the night with Tom appearing from time to time to check on them for propriety's sake, mainly, not wanting to interrupt them. She read, silently beside him in the bed while he slept; she wrote, in her journal, letters…she stayed close enough to touch him, hold his hand, run her fingers through his hair, feel him breathe…

The hours blurred for Anthony as he woke and then fell away again into sleep. He was aware of her presence in the haze of the sedative and exhaustion, and when he woke she smiled and talked to him. The nightmares were few, but when they did occur, he heard her voice and felt her arms around him—his demons being vanquished with each passing hour of this sacred time together.

Early Sunday, before the others woke, Edith and Anthony were awake listening to the rain.

"Are you uncomfortable?"

Anthony shifted in the bed, restless and chilled. "A little."

"Stewart brought your bag and I apologize—you probably have some pajamas, or…something comfortable to put on. May I help you…dress? At least put on…a shirt?"

The statement brought shy smiles and a reminder of their now-undeniable-intimacy. "Yes, I think that would be…fine."

While Edith looked and found his white cotton pajama shirt from the bag, Anthony sat up slowly and turned to sit on the edge of the bed in front of her, careful to keep his lower half appropriately covered. She turned back to him, smiling.

"This has to be the softest shirt I've ever felt…" she said, using both hands to drape it around him, and then let him put his left arm in first before helping him with his right. "There." Edith adjusted it at his right shoulder, slipping her hand inside his shirt to help it lay properly, and then lightly tracing his scars and leaning down to brush her lips against them.

Anthony inhaled, his breath faltering.

Edith knew not to ask, but the words escaped her, "It's not _just_ from a bullet, is it?"

Anthony looked away from her—his silence answering her.

Edith's hands caressed his lightly-bearded face, bringing him back to her—kissing his temple, his cheek. She straightened his collar and let her hands linger, feeling the softness of the shirt and savoring the opportunity to see him react to her touch—his breath halt and his body tense under her fingertips. She leaned down to button it and realized she, too, was holding her breath.

Anthony watched her concentrating, having to focus on each button because they'd not turned on a lamp and the fire was waning. "It's alright—they're not worth the trouble if we still need the dressing changed regularly…"

Edith paused, looked at him. Sitting on the bed, Anthony and Edith were almost the same height. Edith was taken aback—again—by his blue eyes. She couldn't help it. "Do you know how handsome you are?"

"In a dark room?" he chuckled, gesturing to their surroundings, and then absently reaching to protect his side.

She laughed, put her hands on his shoulders. "In any room. I've always thought so…" Unable to resist, she leaned towards him.

"Edith," he reached up to stop her. "We haven't really had a chance to talk—I—I hurt you and—"

"Not now, please. I don't want you to worry about anything except getting better." Her hands combed through his hair.

He took her hand and looked at her, "Please—I need to ask—beg—your forgiveness for—for everything—I—"

Edith brought his hand up to her lips. "I know—there's so much to talk about—I know, but right now all I want to do is reassure you that everything is fine…better than fine. Anthony, I forgive you—I have forgiven you and I'm yours, but you have to know that I'm sorry, too, for…some of the ridiculous things I said—that others said to hurt you, to cause you to…but it's different this time, isn't it? Somehow, it's just different—better—isn't it?"

He nodded. "Yes, I think it is; you're convincing me it is—perhaps that I'm different—I know I am after this…closeness, but I was always better when we were alone. There are still some...some things to be worked out. I can't change how old I am and I can't just—"

"Anthony, darling, not now. We will talk more; there will be time, I promise, but right now may I kiss you and let you go back to resting?"

Before he could say anything, he felt her against him with her arms encircling him and her warm lips on his, first light and chaste, but then parting, the kiss deepening. Anthony ended it, breathless. "I do so like your bedside manner, but do you expect me to be able to actually sleep after that display of affection?"

She laughed again. "Sweet dreams." She helped him lie back down, adjusting pillows and covers, and then kissing him gently on the cheek. "Rest."

"I—I find myself thinking this is too…well, to be so close to you is—I'm afraid—" She saw the worry etched on his face and sat beside him on the bed.

"Don't be afraid. I don't want to be anywhere else." She slipped off her shoes, padded over to the other side of the bed, and snuggled up close to him. "We're together and that won't change, not now…"

They slept a few hours until Edith rose first when Tom came in to check on them—and pretend he'd been in there the entire night as he'd promised Robert.

"I don't mean to disturb," Tom whispered. "How is he?"

"He's making progress, I think."

"When he's up for it, do you think he might be able to rewrite our calculations from Friday? I was going to show them to Robert, but the paper in my pocket…"

Edith understood. "Of course. I'm sure it was ruined in the midst of the…events. I'll talk with him about it and jot them down for you." She walked him towards the door, her voice even lower. "Tom, I have a favor to ask—will you help me?"

"What is it?"

"I have some plans…"

* * *

Mid-morning of Tuesday, Anthony was able to sit up and stand on his own—though the pain was substantial. Edith and Tom helped him walk a bit in the corridor; it was decided he would return to Locksley the following day to continue his convalescence.

By that evening, plans were confirmed. "I spoke with Stewart and they're getting everything ready for you to be home—he and Mrs. Brandon are relieved and seem to be looking forward to doting on you."

Anthony smiled, "I'm blessed to have them."

"I'm sure that's a mutual feeling," Edith agreed, knowing how good a master he was to them. "The difficult news first: I've sent a post to my editor, but I still have to return to London to take care of a few obligations. I promise to be back—very soon. While I'm gone, Cousin Isobel has said she'll check on you regularly at Locksley and, of course, so will Dr. Clarkson until you're completely well," Edith held his hand as he sat on the edge of the bed. "I'll take the train in the morning, just before Tom returns you to Locksley."

"Edith, about your editor—Michael? Is that his name?"

"Oh my God, Anthony, please let me explain. He's pursued me relentlessly, but please don't misunderstand. I never—never—let it go that far. He's married and I never could do that," Edith insisted. _We've come too far, please God, Anthony—believe me._

"I believe you and, Edith, I understand," he admitted. "Will you be alright in London then, if you see him?"

"Yes, I think so." But Edith noticed his expression change. "What is it?"

"We're together, then? I feel like we've—"

"Yes, darling. And my going isn't going to change anything that's happened these past few days."

"Edith—"

Prepared for his doubts and well-armed with reasoning, Edith started, "Anthony, believe in me, please. I know things look worse—distorted or twisted to you—when we're apart; I know, but you have to hear me… I love you and—"

Anthony reached up to her lips; it was his turn to quiet her with a soft touch. "My sweet one, if you would only give me a moment to finish?" He smiled.

She smiled, "So sorry. Please continue."

"Edith, I love you."

"Anth—" Tears formed as she heard the words.

"Not finished," he said, his eyes unwavering as he looked up at her—still smiling.

She bit her lip in an effort to control any further outbursts.

"Since I was interrupted, I'll say it again—just in case, for clarity, you know. I love you, Lady Edith Crawley, and I know everything is not as it should be, but if you have indeed forgiven me for not listening to you, for dishonoring and disregarding your wishes and hurting you so—if you have forgiven me—"

She nodded, emphatic, but remaining quiet—waiting.

"If you have, then I will do everything in my power to make things right—to make up for my past mistakes—to try to be worthy of you—even if I'm not and never can be—that is, if you really want me…" She waited another moment, before she felt his arm pull her close, his hand warm on her back. He smiled at her self-control, "Done."

But she was speechless and blushing.

"You are so beautiful," he said. "Come here." Despite the pain throbbing in his side, he coaxed her into his lap and held her.

Anthony felt the tears on his neck and shoulder and her arms around him as she held him tight. When she did find her voice again, she could only whisper, "I love you...I love you..."

As their last night in Downton came to a close, Edith was—again—beside him on top of the covers as he slept and she dreamed of their future, her eyes wide open, knowing tomorrow would be a test.

* * *

The following morning Cora and Robert talked in the library, waiting to see Anthony off to Locksley.

"Tom showed me the calculations Anthony came up with," Robert began.

Cora waited. "And…?"

"They appear to be good; I trust his knowledge, I suppose, given his experience at this sort of thing," Robert admitted in a begrudging tone.

"You will be kind to him, Robert—this won't be an easy morning for anyone."

Robert sighed. "Of course, I know that, Cora. I won't make it any more difficult than it should be given the situation—the man—"

"I know, Robert, just stop now. It's almost done and then he'll be home again. And I urge you to remember the circumstances which brought him here to begin with." She ended the conversation on that note and stood, knowing the schedule had been set for Edith's departure and Anthony's as well that morning, and walked out to meet Mrs. Hughes and Carson.

* * *

After a mostly silent good-bye with reassuring touches and kisses, Edith packed her bag quickly and called for Lawrence. As she got in the car, her anxiety and knowledge of the gauntlet Anthony faced at Downton caused her to pray silently.

Tom knocked and opened the door. "Are you ready?"

Anthony only nodded.

"Alfred will be up in a moment to bring your bag down. You feeling up for this? Ready to go home?"

"I thought I was," Anthony whispered.

"Did you talk with Edith?"

"Yes, she's headed back to London; she assured me I'd see her in a few days after she took care of some business in London, but…" Anthony lost his strength and almost had to sit down again on the bed.

Tom took his arm. "I'll stand on this side—and she will be back, you know."

Anthony let Tom help him. He already felt the pain from standing and trying to walk. "Tom?"

"Hmm?" He looked up at the tall gentleman.

"Thank you for all you've done for me—for us."

"You're welcome—now, if you're up for it, we'll get you back to Locksley."

"Are they—are Lord and Lady Grantham down there?"

Tom nodded. "Yes, I believe so. I think they intend to see you out. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes are there, too, or at least they were when I came up. Just in case, I suppose…"

Anthony felt himself cringe. "Oh." His courage—the strength Edith gave him the past few days—seemed to abandon him.

"It'll be fine, I promise."

Alfred knocked. "Your bag, Sir Anthony?"

Tom pointed and Alfred picked it up and left.

"I suppose we should just get on with it," Anthony took a deep breath, or tried, but again grimaced from the pain.

"Right beside you," Tom said, guiding him out of the room.

Tom felt Anthony shivering as the two descended the stairs. Tom's arm supported Anthony's left side, his steps halting from the wound as pain shot through him with each movement.

"Are you alright, Anthony?" Tom asked.

Anthony couldn't help but wince with each step. "Fine," he said, trying his best to conceal the amount of pain he felt and the nerves. Then, he looked down to the landing and saw Robert with Cora and most of the downstairs staff awaiting them. His heart pounded, his eyes unable to meet theirs—Tom gripped his arm tighter.

"It's okay—are you okay? Anthony!" Tom had to grab him around the waist to keep Anthony upright.

Cora, seeing it, said just loud enough, "James, will you please?"

The young footman quickly ascended the stairs, but waited to the side as Tom shook his head.

"I feel a bit light-headed; I'm sorry, Tom, but the room's spinning," Anthony swallowed, pausing to catch his breath.

Tom held him and the two of them stood for a moment together; Anthony stared at his sling, his side—anything to keep from looking with dread and humiliation at Robert. He shut his eyes and tried to breathe.

"They just want to wish you well, I promise."

"No, no—not that. I can't make up for—"

"You already have, Anthony, please—stay calm."

Cora looked on with growing concern and whispered to Robert, "Perhaps he's not up for leaving just yet…"

Robert frowned. "I suppose if he must—"

Cora caught Tom's eye and they shared a knowing look of sympathy for Anthony. Cora started up the stairs and, before Robert could stop her, she was by Anthony and Tom. "Anthony, are you certain you're well enough? Please—you're welcome to stay here—"

"No, I'm afraid I'm not—"

"Anthony—you _are _welcome—it's just complicated," Cora whispered, apologetic. She saw his hand trembling, even as Tom held his arm, and she took it. "Anthony, please."

Anthony shook his head. "No, it's fine—I'm fine. Just a bit—"

Cora waited.

Anthony stared at her hand holding his, and finally met her gaze. "I'm so sorry, Lady Grantham."

"We know." She nodded. "We know—it's the past now. We're just thankful you were with Tom—and that you're both here." She smiled.

Anthony took another breath.

"Are you ready now?" Tom asked.

The staff and Robert were becoming impatient and concerned. "Cora, is everything alright?"

She turned, "Yes, everything's fine." She smiled again at Anthony and he and Tom began again, following her down the steps.

* * *

Edith leaned forward, "Lawrence, please turn around—quickly! We need to go back."

"Of course, milady—is something wrong?"

"I don't know—please do hurry," Edith said. She wrung her gloved hands. "Hurry," she whispered.

* * *

As Anthony reached the final step, he barely glanced at the staff and felt Carson and Mrs. Hughes staring—their disdain apparent. Robert's icy gaze forced Anthony to look down again and he felt not only the burning in his side, but the familiar pain in his chest. _Edith, I need you_…

"You're certain you're well?" Robert offered.

Anthony nodded. "Well enough, yes, I believe I can get on. Thank you all for your hospitality—I apologize—very humbly—for the inconvenience I've caused."

Tom patted his arm, letting it go now that they stood together on the first floor. Then a high-pitched squeal, a toddler's delight, was heard and Tom turned to see his beautiful Sybil hurrying around the corner with her nanny chasing behind. He scooped her up, causing her to laugh with delight.

"Papa!"

Anthony couldn't help but stare at this perfect miniature of Lady Sybil—beautiful dark hair, curling around pale skin, and beautiful blue eyes. He smiled at her; she grinned back, shy and leaning into Tom's shoulder.

"Sybil, remember the story I told you about my brave friend and how he saved your Papa? This...is Sir...Anthony," Tom said.

Edith appeared at the door, but upon opening it, hesitated—sensing something happening inside.

The entire congregation watched, waited for the exchange between the gentleman and the angelic child.

Sybil studied Anthony. Her eyes opened wider in sudden recognition and she held her hand out, pointing to him. "Thank you…for…my papa."

Anthony's heart stopped at those words and there was a collective gasp in the room as the weight of the events—the possibility of Tom having been hurt or killed and little Sybil being left without either parent—finally dawned.

Tears filled Anthony's eyes. "You're most welcome, Lady Sybil," he said, taking her tiny hand in his and lightly kissing it.

She took her hand from his and reached to touch his face, and she frowned. "Blue eye…cry…?"

He smiled back at her. "Yes—yes, and you have blue eyes as well. She's so beautiful, Tom."

Tom kissed her on the cheek. "She surely is…" Tom looked around the room—Anthony wasn't the only one touched by Sybil's innocence and gratitude. Cora dabbed at her eyes, as did Mrs. Hughes and Anna; Carson could only look away to study the floor.

Robert cleared his throat, his own eyes moist after hearing Sybil's words and sharing in the subtle moment of revelation; he looked at Cora, squeezing her hand. He approached Anthony, uncertain exactly as to what he was about to do or say.

Anthony looked from Sybil to Tom and then turned to see Robert. Edith, still watching, unnoticed at the doorway, saw Anthony steel himself, and then saw Robert reaching out to him—with his left hand. Edith felt her tears, but didn't make a sound.

"Anthony."

"Robert."

"Do let us know if you need anything," Robert cleared his throat again. "Tom—all ready? You're driving him?"

Edith hurried back to the car. "Lawrence, everything's alright. I'm ready. Let's go. To the station, please—hurry."

"Yes, I'll be back after a while. Just want to make sure he gets settled." Tom kissed Sybil and handed her to her nanny and she waved good-bye and smiled.

Tom brought the car around. Though it took longer than expected, they were soon loaded and off to Locksley.

Tom drove slowly, knowing with each bump Anthony groaned from the pain. Indeed, to Anthony, the drive seemed to take forever.

When they did arrive, Stewart and Mrs. Brandon greeted him warmly at the door. Tom helped Anthony up the stairs. "I'll bring your bag up—you go ahead and lie down. I'm sure Stewart will be up in a moment to help you."

He left Anthony to walk by himself into his room, where Anthony found Edith sitting in the chair by the fireplace—waiting for him.

Anthony stood, stunned. "I thought you were—"

"Yes, well, that was the point," she said, smiling. "Stewart met me and brought me here."

Tom appeared behind Anthony. "Ah, I see you made it."

Anthony turned. "You were in on this, too? I should have known…"

Tom could only grin.

"I hope it's alright—I had your staff make up a guest room for me," Edith said. "You still need some help healing and your staff has always been wonderful and they've promised to be discreet and I think this is best—for me to take care of you and for us…to work things out…if you agree? Please, Anthony?"

Anthony, knowing her and how everything had changed so immeasurably, could only say, "I do—I agree."

Tom said his goodbyes, with a hug and kiss for Edith and a warm handshake for Anthony.

"You won't tell them?" Edith asked, confirming the conspiracy.

"Absolutely not—I'm happy to be in this up to my neck, too, you know," he said, winking. "Enjoy this little respite while it lasts."

* * *

A/N: Thank you again for reading! Please do let me know what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

With Tom's departure, Edith and Anthony were left alone in his room. For a moment, she stood there as though in one of Anthony's visions—a beautiful green blouse with a dark skirt, and a tentative-but-beautiful smile. She moved towards him and he let her embrace him gently. Anthony put his arm around her, inhaling her scent and the heat still radiating from her sitting near the fire.

Flush against him, feeling his heart beat as her head rested against his chest, she whispered, "Welcome home."

He kissed the top of her head. "You feel wonderful…how did you manage this—or should I ask? The need to return to London—fabricated?"

She leaned back and looked up at him. "Not fabricated exactly. I sent Mr. Gregson a post letting him know I'd need to remain at Downton for an extended period, but assured him I'd be sending an article soon."

"And Stewart? His enlistment in this? Tom certainly gave him plenty of time to meet you and return from the station—I've never seen a man drive so slowly…or painfully." Anthony grinned at her and she couldn't help but smile with pride, her eyes unable to hide that glint of charm.

"Perhaps I posted a couple of letters…and used the telephone once…or twice." She laughed. "I couldn't help it; I couldn't just return to London and leave you here to be cared for by anyone else…I couldn't bear it."

Edith led him over to his bed and prompted him to sit. "I know you must be exhausted already."

Anthony nodded. "Quite a staircase—took us an eternity to finally make it to the landing."

"I know it wasn't easy, between the staircase and my parents," Edith eased onto his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Young Lady Sybil made it worth it," he smiled.

"Yes, she certainly did." She saw his questioning look. "I caught it as I was leaving—unnoticed at the door. I had this feeling and just had to come back and make sure you were alright. And you were, of course—sometimes it takes a little one to put everything into perspective…soften hearts and heal wounds," Edith said.

She let her hands then rub his shoulders and his back, leisurely, lovingly.

"Mmm…thank you." He rested his head on her shoulder, kissing her neck lightly.

"For what?"

Anthony paused, calculating his words. "Everything. But now—we need to talk. We've not really talked these past few days and we need to. Let's start now, darling, while I can; I'll need some rest soon. Serious talk, alright, to make things clear before we embark on this time together?"

She nodded, fearing the worst.

"Edith—something broke that first night—when you held me—comforted me. You have no idea how wonderful your touch is to me…how much it means to me."

"Tell me," Edith said. She dug her nails into his back a bit and raked them up the length of it along his spine; she caressed his neck and then threaded them through his hair.

Anthony took her left wrist in his hand, turned her palm to his lips, and kissed it. "Your beautiful hands…they're gentle, healing, and compassionate. Before, there were rules—distance that must be maintained, especially—well, especially given how your family felt about us. Naturally, I never wanted to frighten you or otherwise trespass upon any boundaries to be respected. When you saw me wake—held me when I was so…panicked—"

"You were vulnerable. It's nothing to be ashamed of," Edith frowned.

"No, no, I'm not ashamed; you needed to know what—what it's like. If anything though, I feel like those boundaries—you always reached for me and I was reluctant to meet you—but now, since that night, you've changed something in me and I can't ignore it…having you hold me together like that—not shy away—it makes me all the more aware of how much I do want you close to me." She was watching him so intently, her fingers still petting his hair. Anthony whispered, "It's tantalizing to have you within reach, Edith—I've wanted you for so long."

"You have—wanted me?"

"My sweet one, wanting you was never the problem…burdening you was what I couldn't allow—what I still can't permit myself to do to you. Besides, I'm not sure your family's going to be keen on the idea the second time around either."

Edith waited a moment for the words to sink in, and then looked at Anthony with a mixture of defeat and confusion. "So I did all of this for nothing—only to have you refuse me in the end anyway for the same reasons: you care too much about what they think and still see yourself as a burden to me?"

Anthony shook his head and pulled her closer. "Not at all, my darling. Please. This is as close as we're going to come to having no interruptions—to work things out, as we've agreed—to have the opportunity we didn't have before the wedding to spend time together…do you remember that month?"

Edith nodded, her gaze intent—unable to look away from his blue eyes—and something occurred to her. "We barely saw each other…alone… Anthony, I'm so sorry…I was so caught up; I didn't realize what it was doing to you—to us. They were pushing you away and I needed to be with you, to reassure you."

He looked away from her to stare at the fire. "All of it caught up with me, darling. I don't know how to explain it. Did you know your father couldn't even look at me when he asked me to stay away from you initially; I never told you about that night after dinner when he asked me to the library. Do you remember?"

"I remember sitting downstairs here and convincing you that day to come to dinner. I insisted. And I remember thinking afterwards—the next morning when I received your note—how cruel that on the night when I couldn't remember you ever being more handsome that you were ambushed by him…I accused him that morning of casting you into the outer darkness."

Anthony held her tight. "Thank you for your passionate defense and bravery. You were always so strong; I'm sorry I wasn't."

"Anthony," Edith's voice was soft in his ear. "Don't think for a moment, my love, that they didn't know what their disapproval would do to your lovely sense of honor."

"I suppose I kept believing they would come around or be happy for us, or that we would be alone long enough that I would be able to interrupt your happiness and discuss these concerns...I let it go on too long…" He sighed. "Even when I tried to plea for his blessing—to make certain we were doing the right thing just before the wedding—he brushed it off; I've lost count of how many times he told me, in an indirect way of course, his lack of enthusiasm for me—for us—his dislike of my injury and unsuitability was 'not at all personal.' I know he only wanted what was best for you, but how could it _not_ be personal? How? I wanted to marry you—twice—is there anything _more personal _than being man enough to be your husband, to make you my wife?" His voice broke, his eyes filled with tears.

Edith kissed his temple and felt the tears at her eyelashes.

"I'm so sorry, Edith, that I let their disapproval and the quips about…well, everything…I let them speak to my own doubts about you wasting your life with me; I let everything come between us."

"I'm to blame as well; I know I said things, too. I'm sorry for my foolish words," Edith said. Anthony turned back to her. She stroked his bearded cheeks and he wiped away the teardrop that threatened from her eye.

"My darling, I know you meant well, but perhaps I should be straightforward enough to tell you that I do not want to be your 'life's work' or some kind of 'project'—but a husband and a lover and a companion in all things; you're such a talented woman that it would be foolish for me not to support your _actual_ life's work. I want you to love me and want me—need me even, God willing—as a man, not as someone who needs looking after."

He held her tight against him, still sitting with her on his lap on the bed. She trembled against him and he stroked her back, quieting and comforting her.

"My beautiful Edith…shh… When I'm with you, it all seems possible. I need you to be certain and I need to be certain I can make you happy—I'm not a young man and there are limitations to what I can do; I don't have the years ahead of me that you do…"

"Anthony, I know you're worried about your age, but look around us—we've already lost Sybil and Matthew and both losses were completely unexpected. They were young—it could happen to me tomorrow—"

"Edith! I didn't—"

Edith straightened in his grasp, looking into his eyes, unwilling to yield. "It can! Anthony, I'm tired of you worrying about this or thinking that it's the end of the world because in your mind we only have a few years before you die or before you're unable to take care of yourself. If anything hasn't the war taught us that we don't know and can't take anything for granted? That we should appreciate what we do have and cherish one another for as long as we can? Nothing has gone the way we wanted it to—my God, Anthony, we should have been married and had children by now! This certainly isn't the road either one of us would have chosen, but we're here now and we should seize it—whether they approve or not, no matter your age or…my family. I'm older, too—almost thirty—not the girl from before the war and I beg you to see me as such—a woman capable of her own opinions. And you have proven yourself so independent and capable in so many ways that I refuse to allow you to believe yourself a cripple. I love you…Anthony, I love you and I can't lose you again."

"I pray you won't—I have no intention of walking away from you again. And, my dear, I have always believed you to be independent and intelligent…I love and respect your opinions; I regret so much that I lost sight of them when it mattered most." He sighed, the exhaustion apparent. "Edith, we're covering all of this ground much quicker than I thought we might—we have time. I need to lie down soon."

"Of course, I want you to rest." She started to move off of him, but he held her tight against him again.

"I only want you to realize that this isn't a one-time victory, my darling; these doubts and fears about my age and my arm…the war…the demons I have…those battles won't disappear, I'm afraid. Are you willing to keep facing them?"

"Together. I'm willing to face anything with you, as long as you'll let me," Edith said.

"I fear more than anything that you will resent me—hate me even as the years wear on and you're tied to me, needing more than just...this life…"

"You're going to have to trust me, Anthony Strallan, that _this life_ together can still be everything we want it to be." Edith kissed him then with such warmth and passion that when he tried to pull away in protest that their discussion was not over, she held him tighter—even as her lips stilled and then parted against his own, waiting for him...

Anthony was done hesitating. He returned her kiss with such fervor and longing that both were breathless in moments.

"Oh, Anthony…"

"I apologize, sweet, for taking such liberties—" Anthony managed.

"Do not ever apologize for taking those liberties when I am left feeling…like this." Edith's cheeks were flushed and her chin reddened slightly from the rub of his beard. The heat between them caused both to lean back and breathe deeply. "Speaking of feeling—how _old_ do you feel right now?" She teased.

Anthony's eyes twinkled, even as he mock-studied her with a furrowed brow and let his fingers trace her neckline, her collarbone. "You don't fight fair, sweet one—feverish kisses like that can make a man lose track of years, of time and place…"

"So glad to win this one—fair or not. Do let me orient you then to time and place…It's mid-day Wednesday in the county of Yorkshire and I love you now more than ever. As a general forecast of our future, based on how far we've come, I only see that love growing, especially now that we're home at Locksley—"

He looked at her then. "_We're _home?"

Edith swallowed and glanced away, afraid she'd been too forward even for their honest and intimate talk. "I've always felt…at home here."

Anthony smiled.

"Much more so than Downton…" She said, her look sad and distant.

Anthony brushed a curl behind her ear and remembered how forlorn she became in the past when she shared stories of her family—of being forgotten about, overlooked, misunderstood. He lowered his voice and took her chin gently in his grasp, holding her gaze rapt to his own. "_Our _home, darling—Locksley will be yours, too—and here you will never be second or third-best. You will be the Lady of this estate and will be loved and honored as such."

"Do you mean it, Anthony?"

"I do. Edith, this is not a formal proposal of marriage, my darling—more a promise of one—when I'm well and can plan something…more special—you deserve so much more. God knows the last two attempts haven't quite worked, but have been preludes to disaster. This time, as we've both decided, is so different. Look how much closer we are even in the last hour…"

She kissed him, light and sweet. His beard tickled her a bit and she smiled, finally leaning away from him. "I can't imagine anything more special than simply being here with you, but enough for now, my love. You're far too tired and I did promise to take good care of you. Would you like Stewart to come up? A bath and a shave, perhaps, before you settle into bed?" She looked him over, her smile broadening. "Not that I don't approve of this disarmingly handsome, rakish look you have going..."

Anthony shook his head and laughed, before letting his eyes close for a long moment, heavy with fatigue. "This evening, I think. I don't have the strength just now."

Edith helped him with his boots first, setting them aside, and then his sling—after removing it, she took his right hand in both of hers and held it, giving it a light kiss. They removed his shirt and she checked his side before tucking him into his bed. He was asleep within seconds, it seemed, but he did manage to whisper, "_Our_ home, sweet one…"

Edith watched him for a moment before retreating quietly downstairs to make arrangements for dinner with Stewart and Mrs. Brandon. They welcomed her presence, greeted her with affection even, but never let on what the past eighteen months had been like for their master—long hours of obsessive work, solitude, sadness. Something about Edith's demeanor let them know that she already knew him well enough to fill in those gaps, to surmise the agony he'd put himself through thinking it was the right thing for her. Together, they only prayed this time for him and Lady Edith…this time would be different and they would help in any way they could.

Edith returned to Anthony's room feeling tired herself. She contemplated the scene for a moment—Anthony sleeping under the covers of his bed, almost on his right side but just enough to keep from laying on his ruined arm. _If it's our home, then this is our bed_, she thought, smiling.

When Anthony's eyes opened a few hours later, he saw his Edith beside him sleeping. He noticed that this time she was under the covers with him and he lifted them slightly to see their bodies as mirror images of one another—curled close and knees bent, his slacks touching her legs hidden by her skirt. Her lips were at his right shoulder and she was holding the length of his arm against her body, with her fingers intertwined with his by her hip on the mattress. He thought for a moment again of how desperately he wished he had feeling in that arm and hand. Anthony traced her cheek with his finger and smiled when she moaned softly in her sleep. _Dear God, whatever have I done to deserve her? Let me give her the lifetime of love she deserves…let there be a way…_he prayed….


	12. Chapter 12

Edith blinked and felt the warmth of his touch against her cheek, the gentle brush of the back of his hand; her breath stilled, taking in fully the blue eyes looking back at her. Neither spoke. Words wouldn't suffice, not after earlier.

In those silent minutes, Anthony Strallan saw her. No longer a dream to sustain him through endless days of war or tortured captivity, nor through the relentless nightmares and persistent depression that dwelled within and paralyzed him since—Edith Crawley lay beside him as a woman, utterly real, and exuding such love with her dark eyes that he couldn't help but be lost in her. The month of engagement, over a year and a half past, had only allowed him scattered attempts at thoughts of a life desperately imagined and hoped for but nothing concrete, nothing to cling to amidst the conflicting doubts and disapproval that set him adrift from her. Now, Anthony felt himself lost again; however, this version of 'lost' left him entirely content, not uncertain but assured in their togetherness—a wholeness that, he thought, rare in its very possibility...the realization that he wasn't 'lost' at all, but merely arriving at the home he sought for so long that the journey itself had caused it to become clouded by distance and time, unfathomable even in the most optimistic of moments when she had willed him to see their future together. Meeting Edith's gaze, unabashedly soaking her in as she lay by him, allowed Anthony to grasp and imagine so perceptibly, so definitively, those moments of marital fulfillment that eluded him in all the years prior to this finite circumstance compressed before him into a simple, intent stare: waking with her; sharing the latest news over a meal; taking her out as his wife and feeling her warmth as she leant in to whisper secrets meant for the two of them alone; admiring her as host of a dinner party, her shy nature retreating in favor of her lovely charm; reveling in seeing her writing successes; simply reading with her in quiet moments, nestled beside him in the library, or working with purpose on a literary project; being with her at Downton, facing her family; talking with her whenever they wanted—in bed, intimately, or in the brightness of the day; making love to her—no longer a mere disruptive and agonizing fantasy exaggerated from the faint impressions of her from past stolen moments—truly loving her as she wanted and _needed_, learning her every look, every murmur, every sound, pleasing her in every way, seeing her wanton and lovely and knowing that closeness, that pleasure was for him alone to witness, for the two of them together to experience; and a family…holding their child… This imagined life, for Anthony Strallan, translated in that moment from abstract, shadowy watercolor to a vivid, brilliantly distinct _home_; a future which, for the first time, he believed real, touchable even…because she was right there, _with_ him, and he couldn't look away.

Edith sensed the unique quality—the openness—to this moment as his hand continued to stroke her cheek, trace her brow. She _felt _him as he watched her—the honesty in his look, the deliberate way he drank her in, seeing everything about her—and she knew. Despite being fully clothed and covered by the sheet and blanket on his bed, Edith felt vulnerable; lying with him, she felt exposed, as if he could see everything within her, but she'd never felt so safe, so protected, shielded by the strength she saw in him now as he touched her. The chase—the vigor—she employed in the pursuit of him before this moment abandoned her, replaced by a peace she found in his tranquil, warm touch to her soft skin and the hushed intimacy of the shared look between them.

Anthony finally let his hand settle under her chin at the hollow of her throat, her lips still at his right shoulder, her eyes looking up into his. The sun was beginning to sink and the room began to darken, shadows drifting further across them in bed.

"Hello," he whispered.

"Hello," Edith smiled. "Are you hungry? Mrs. Brandon's just awaiting your request."

Anthony's crooked grin was only partially hidden by the pillow. "You certainly have taken care of things."

"You—I'm here to take care of you…and us," she said.

"I think I would like something, but only if you eat with me and you choose the meal you desire."

"Anthony, you're the one healing—"

"I know, but I'm not up for terribly much and you should enjoy it. She's a wonderful cook. Request what you like and I'll meet you by the hearth—where you've already made certain there are two chairs and a table, I see."

Edith laughed. "Yes, Mrs. Brandon and Stewart made sure of that before I arrived. I thought we might be spending quite a bit of time—initially—here so as not to have you take the stairs. I'll be right back." She slowly disengaged her hand from his, placing it on the bed beside her. Edith looked at him again for a long moment. "Did you sleep well?"

Anthony nodded. "Yes, it was just what I needed."

"I'm glad. Shall I let Stewart know that you'd like a bath and shave after dinner?"

"Yes, please. Thank you, darling."

She touched his beard, all along his cheek and neck covered with darker blonde and a few strands of gray. "Hmmm…I might miss this when it's gone," she said, laughing.

He smiled and thought for only a moment before saying, "I haven't had anything like it since the war."

Edith froze. "I'm sorry, Anthony, I didn't mean to bring up—"

"Darling, it's quite alright. I'm fine," he said.

She leaned over him as he shifted to fully lie on his back. "Are you sure?"

Anthony pulled her close to him, causing her to rest her head on his chest. "Edith, it's fine. There were some days when a razor was difficult to come by is all. You don't need to know more, sweet one. It's over—save for the occasional nightmare—and you've won." He lifted her chin to look at him directly. "You've won and we're here, alright?"

Edith nodded and then kissed him lightly. "We're here, yes. And you need sustenance—as do I. I'll return shortly."

Anthony watched her, first as she donned her heels, and then as she made her way to the chair for his shirt.

"You'll be wanting this now?"

"Please," he said, sitting up, gingerly. She turned the lamp on by the bed, examined his side, and then helped him slip it on, buttoning it for him. Edith leaned into him and embraced him for a moment.

"We'll put on a fresh dressing after your bath," she assured him. Before walking out of the room, she cast him a sideways glance and smile.

Anthony returned her smile and then slowly moved to stand, but before taking a step, he exhaled, anticipating the pain—but was pleasantly surprised when it wasn't quite as bad as it had been just that morning.

The chairs by the hearth were plush, dark red and comfortable, neatly arranged facing one another with a small nightstand-turned-dining table between them. Anthony considered stoking the fire, but settled into the chair instead, fearful of upsetting the dressing at his side and content to let Stewart tend it when he came up later. The scent of Edith lingered on his cotton, long-sleeve shirt and he smiled, closing his eyes.

The door opened. "Our timing couldn't have been better. She and Stewart will be up in a moment—she already had some nice soup and bread prepared." Edith took the liberty, quite without hesitation, of stoking the fire before taking the chair across from him.

"Of course," Anthony grinned, "and I imagine it's either chicken, which is possibly my favorite soup of hers, or a wonderful beef stew, which would probably be her choice to help me recover from my injury."

Edith laughed. "Judging from the kitchen, it appears she's looking after your health. I believe it was the beef stew and it smelled delicious."

"It will be, I'm certain," he nodded. Anthony let his eyes wander and admire her by the firelight. She'd slipped her heels off again and folded her feet up under her in the chair, feeling the warmth of the fire. He could see the glowing of her skin, her eyes shimmering golden brown, and her reddish-gold curls enhanced by the firelight. "So beautiful," he whispered.

She took a breath, but before she could respond there was a knock and Stewart, a tall, dark-haired man in his late-30's, and Mrs. Brandon, a rather plump, petite woman just shy of 50, entered with trays.

"Here you go, Sir," she said, smiling more like a mother than a woman close to his own age. She and Stewart carefully arranged the two bowls of steaming stew with a plate of bread between them on the small table, along with goblets of wine and water.

"Will there be anything else, Sir?" Stewart asked.

"No, thank you, Stewart. Mrs. Brandon, this looks delectable," Anthony assured her.

She beamed, clearly enjoying the compliment. "Thank you, Sir—I do hope you enjoy it. Probably hasn't been easy for you these past few days, what away from Locksley and all. I want this to be a nice 'welcome home' for you."

"Well, Mrs. Brandon, it was not easy, but some good things have happened since." Anthony and Edith didn't smile, though the look shared reflected such meaning that the two servants began their retreat.

Stewart cleared his throat while edging towards the door. "Enjoy your dinner, Sir, and you as well, Lady Edith."

"Thank you, and Lady Edith will, I'm sure, _not _let _me_ ring you to let you know when we're finished—but will take the liberty of doing so herself."

Edith gave the pair a knowing look, which they returned in kind from behind Anthony's chair and they turned to walk out the door, closing it with care.

Alone again, the two enjoyed the warmth of the fire and the stew, each remarking on the aroma and taste of it—Mrs. Brandon having tenderized the meat and flavored it to savory perfection.

"Between this food and your gentle expertise in nursing, I think I'll be back to normal quite soon," Anthony said, finishing the last bit of bread.

Edith touched the corners of her mouth with her napkin, nodding emphatically. "And it's nice to be able to eat and enjoy it…alone together."

Anthony smiled and let out a laugh. "Do you remember after your sister's wedding—when your grandmother from America visited—and we were all commenting on the casual attire of Matthew and dinner jackets? Poor footman—Alfred, I think—had—"

"Oh yes! Burned a hole in his coat," Edith laughed at the recollection, and then frowned. "Poor Alfred."

"Yes, but then you scandalized us both," Anthony's voice lowered, almost conspiratorially, teasing with his dry tone. "I approved of the notion of casual clothing, in support of Matthew in general, and you added—"

Edith's laugh echoed in the bedroom. "Especially when a couple's alone," she twittered happily, "And you, my darling, looked so shocked."

Anthony laughed aloud, too, his head resting on the back of the chair. "Oh, Edith…I was so busy—surprised, really, at the hint of alluding to _our _few casual visits together—so busy reacting to you that I almost missed the subtle look on Lady Grantham's face as she looked at your father." His laughter subsided, and he sighed, his smile disappearing. "One of the many looks of disapproval…"

Edith's mouth turned down at the corners, considering, and then said quietly, "I know."

Anthony looked into her eyes. His voice deep and clear, and reaching for her across the table until she held her fingers up to match his own—perfectly touching, mirrored fingertips—before he moved his larger hand to gently envelop hers, he said, "I love your laugh, Edith—and I prefer no one else's company more than yours, whether we're dining together or…just in the same room."

Edith couldn't deny the radiating heat from his hand holding hers. The warmth swept all the way through her and she remembered his open confession from earlier about what her touch did to him. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you how your touch affects me," she confided in a hushed tone, shy in the flirtation.

Anthony could see the change in her look, a fire lit in those beautiful eyes; he felt his own breath catch just seeing her reacting to him—and it was just the connection of their hands.

Cautious, Anthony slowly slid his hand away from hers. "I think I'm ready for that bath and shave, sweet one."

Edith shook her head, catching herself. "Of course, yes. I'll let him know." She stood, walked to the bell and rang for Stewart. "Is there anything I can do for you or collect for you—a book or any papers you need from downstairs—something to do?"

"Books sound like a good way to pass some restful time, yes. You choose, alright? I more than trust your literary inclinations." He smiled and she marveled again at his blue eyes, now shining in the dark by the fire. She had to catch her breath once more.

"They so closely match your own, if memory is to be believed," she smiled. "I'll be downstairs then." She opened the door before Stewart could knock and they exchanged greetings again before she gave Anthony a wistful look and closed the door behind her. Standing in the hallway alone, Edith paused, leaned her head back against the door and wished—again that day as she had so many times in the past few—that they were married…that her hands were undressing him…that she could know what it was to be his wife, to have him as her husband—to make love with him… She stopped herself. _Books_, she chided, smiling to herself, _must focus on some excellent books_…

* * *

A/N: Thank you again for reading! As always, love to know what you think if you have a moment...


	13. Chapter 13

Edith took her time. The gorgeous volumes were worn with obvious adoration—Anthony Strallan loved his books and life existed in his library. Edith had perused the titles for almost an hour when Stewart knocked and let her know that Sir Anthony wished to see her. She hurried to stack a few of the volumes she had chosen for them and made her way back up the stairs and down the corridor to his room.

Edith knocked, but didn't hear a response. She opened the door. "Anthony?"

His tall frame was silhouetted by the window. "Just appreciating the stars," he turned to her, smiling, his face now smooth and pale in the bright moonlight streaming through the panes. "Come here for a moment, darling," he whispered, as though the mere sound of his voice might disturb the beautiful sight and nightingale songs in Locksley's orchards and fields in the night.

Edith placed the books in a chair by the hearth and let him take her hand, guiding her in front of him so he could wrap his good arm around her as she stood peering out the window with him. She savored the fresh scent of his soap and shaving lotion, a faint lavender and—something she couldn't quite place, but clean and masculine and utterly divine. Anthony leaned closer; she felt the smooth silkiness of his dark blue pajamas wrapping around her as he pulled her to him, gingerly avoiding the still-vulnerable wound, yet still managing to hold her body flush against his own. She felt a rush of warmth at the feel of his heartbeat, his chest against her back. Edith sighed and let her body relax against him as she tried to keep her eyes open in the moment. The cherished intimacy in the way he held her escaped neither of them; these moments became theirs completely and both knew they couldn't take them for granted. He kissed her cheek and, encouraged by her uneven breaths that halted with each touch of his lips, continued down the gentle angle of the back of her neck to the thin material of her blouse at her shoulder. She leaned her head back to rest on his chest, her eyes closed. "Mmm—Anthony?"

"Yes…" He rested his chin on her shoulder.

"I need to let you know, perhaps again, that I adore your library—"

"_Ours_, dear, _our_ library…and?" He kissed her softly again behind her ear.

"Yes, but we're not marr—"

"I know, but we will be…go on."

"_Our_ library, then." She smiled, shyly, and he could hear the joy in her submission. "Yes, _ours,_ do like the sound of that, darling. You should know that if you're ever missing me for any length of time to look there first. And, as promised, I found some books to keep us company," Edith's hand took his left one, helping him hold her closer.

"Very well…it has been quite a day, what even with the nap and all, and I find I can still sleep soon—would you like a bedtime story, sweet one?" His low whisper made her shiver.

Edith turned towards him, but remaining in his embrace. "That sounds rather charming."

"May I hold you a bit longer though? Now that you're here, I can't seem to want to let you go." Despite the darkness, his blue eyes still captured her and there was no way to deny him.

"Anthony Strallan, you may hold me as long as you wish," Edith said. "But I do notice that you're trembling. Perhaps you should sit or lie down?"

"I haven't fully recovered from the blood loss, I'm afraid. I feel weak still—particularly after cleaning up. Of course, there's also your presence affecting my nerves…" He kissed her lightly.

"Your nerves—are you—" Edith's voice registered concern and Anthony quickly quieted her with a touch of his finger on her lips.

His blue eyes looked into her brown eyes and he spoke softly, "Darling, it's fine. I only mean that being so close to you makes me anxious to be well and recovered…" He paused, measuring his words. "To marry you…to…be your husband…"

In the moonlight, Anthony saw her expression change, a knowing, beautiful smile drift across her features. "I was having that very same thought just an hour or so ago..." She said, lifting her fingers to his mouth and tracing his lips, soft and slow. Then, Edith stood on tiptoes and kissed him—just enough to elicit a low moan from deep within him.

"Darling…I think that sort of thing only enhances the trembling I'm experiencing," he managed.

"I won't apologize for having that effect on you," she grinned. "But… do come here—let me take a look at your side; you need to settle and rest still." Edith held his hand and pulled away, leading him over to the bed.

"Would you like to share the nature of that thought you had an hour ago?" Anthony grinned, and then flinched in pain as he eased onto the bed and leaned back against the pillows.

Edith sat by him, turned the lamp on beside the bed, and slowly unbuttoned his pajama shirt, smiling a bit mischievously as she did. "I'm not sure I need to elaborate, but I'll confess I've been imagining…what it would mean…" Her confidence deserted her as her cheeks turned crimson, and she couldn't look into his eyes, but furrowed her brow and instead concentrated more intensely on the buttons.

"Tell me, Edith," Anthony encouraged, reaching out to stop her focus on the buttons, taking her chin and tilting her head to meet his gaze.

Edith's eyes locked with his. "What it would mean to…to be your wife—to be yours…completely…"

Anthony's hand smoothed her cheek, touching her, reassuring her as her words still lingered between them; his fingers traced the line of her jaw, and then grazed her neck and moved to softly thread the curls of her hair as he pulled her to him. He kissed her slowly, coaxing her lips apart gently with his own, letting the passion of the moment possess them both. Her hands moved from his shirt to the heat of his chest, the pulse of his neck and into his hair, urging him to lean closer still until she felt him suddenly tense and reach to his side.

Anthony looked down at the stitches, pursing his lips. "Mmm. Sorry, sweet one. I suppose I need to be a bit more careful for a while yet."

Edith smiled, inhaled deeply, regaining her composure. "Let me get a fresh dressing for you—though I must say I'm rather impressed with how quickly you're healing."

"Good—we have plans to see to." Anthony watched her as she carefully gathered the dressing materials from where she placed them earlier on his nightstand and then gently covered the stitching once more, taking particular care pressing around the wound so as not to cause him further discomfort.

Edith finished and began buttoning his shirt, but then thought better of it and let her hands caress him once more. "So…for bedtime reading…poetry?" Edith smiled. "Keats? Shelley? Some wicked 'Jack' Donne? Shakespeare? Something more modern—or even American—perhaps? Or something really adventurous—a machinery or science journal?" She laughed, a look of undeniable love for him in her eyes.

"I think I prefer something of yours …You've become quite the writer, after all." He smiled, his eyes never leaving her.

Edith looked at him, bewildered. "What do you mean?"

"Surely, you have stories you'd like to tell that may or may not be related to the policies and problems you write about in _The Sketch_?"

"You mean…like a novelist? A real writer?"

Anthony nodded, raising his eyebrows. "Of course, well, you are a real writer, my love, but have you considered writing something for your own? You're quite talented. I suppose I naturally thought—"

"I have had ideas, but women right now—"

"My darling, we both know everything is changed now—or still changing rather quickly. Nothing is impossible any longer; besides, you know I would support you in any endeavor you chose," Anthony took her hand, kissed the back of it lightly and held it to his cheek. "Lady Edith Strallan, the writer…I am, after all, your most ardent admirer."

Edith paused, staring at him in wonder. "I love you."

Anthony chuckled. "You sound surprised, sweet one—are you all right?"

"I just don't think it occurred to me how much until now—hearing you say something like that…it's still so marvelous to me. I love you and I am so terribly happy to be with you. You make me feel…" She pressed a hand to her lips, the emotion too much for her.

Anthony saw the tears and reached to stop them, to soothe her. Edith took his hand first, kissing his fingertips tenderly, and then said, "You make me feel like I mean someth—"

"Everything," he said, interrupting her. "You mean _everything_ to me, Edith." Upon hearing those words, Edith's mind flashed back* to the month of courtship in 1920 when those words echoed his promise to her—the unfulfilled promise that shattered them both. She looked away from him, the hurt evident. "Edith—"

"No, I understand—"

"Edith, I'm sorry; I didn't mean those words to be hurtful, to remind you of before—I—only—"

But then she smiled, unexpectedly. "We're different now."

"Yes, you know you've always meant so much to me—I never wanted to—" Anthony began, trying to correct himself, to make himself clearer.

"Anthony, I know," she said. "I know how much I meant to you then. And I know how much we mean to each other now—I think we're…well, we're so impossibly in love, aren't we? Even more than before—I look at you and I see the look in your eyes mirroring mine and I can hardly bear it—can't stand how much I feel for you and knowing we belong together…that we always have belonged to one another."

He smiled, then, his concern and worry softening into understanding. "Yes, my darling. I couldn't have said it better—I suppose that's why you're the writer."

A thought occurred to her then. "Perhaps I should write about us?"

Anthony paused. "Lovers who finally find one another—"

"After years apart—"

"Misunderstandings in families—"

"I think Shakespeare may have already done this one—_Romeo and Juliet _or any of the tragedies?" Edith said, laughing.

Anthony frowned, but only slightly. "More like _The Winter's Tale_…"

"Ah…beautiful Hermione come back to life…" Edith smiled.

"O, she's warm! If this be magic, let it be an art lawful as eating…" Anthony quoted. "Some of his most gorgeous poetry in that one…"

"And they were apart for years, too… Anthony, let's waste no more time, please," Edith pleaded.

"No more than necessary, my dear. Now, I think we've talked long past an actual bedtime story," he paused. "But how I've dreamt of this time together to talk, to be together…"

Edith leaned in and kissed him. "It is late. Rest, my love, and I bid you sweet dreams."

She stood to leave and, surprised by this turn, Anthony protested, "But—"

"No—I know how you are about propriety, Sir Anthony Strallan. I know we've discussed marriage, but we're not married now and I…I mean the better you feel, the closer you are to being healed, the more we'll both want…um…" Edith's cheeks seemed to catch fire, even in the dim light.

"Be tempted?" Anthony finished for her in a sober tone. He cleared his throat, looking away from her. "You're absolutely right, darling." Then, he couldn't help but grin, and teased, "And if I, perhaps, were…to need you…during the night?"

Edith smiled, "Anthony!—"

"I just mean if the dressing is failing and…I begin bleeding profusely…or become ill or…" She could see the mocking humor in his beautiful blue eyes as he charmed her with his disarming, crooked grin and she couldn't help but giggle. "Darling, I'm teasing, of course. I was going to suggest that it would be best, perhaps, if you did sleep across the hall. Things are different now, but I want this to be right between us and that means—despite how long it's taken us to get this far—that we can wait until our wedding night."

"Which means we should marry all the more quickly," Edith added.

Anthony's response was low, hoarse, "Yes, darling…yes…"

"I'll be in occasionally to check on you—how's that for a compromise for now?" Edith bent and kissed him, all innocence, on the lips as she turned the lamp off. In the dark now, he felt and grasped her hand one last time.

"I love you, sweet one—good night." His deep voice melted her and then she felt his open-mouth kiss on her palm.

She couldn't turn back to him for fear she'd never leave the room. "I love you—good night, my heart," she said, needing every bit of willpower she could muster in order to pull away from him.

Edith checked on him four times during the night and when Anthony awoke the next morning he saw her—a lovely smile playing on her lips—in the chair by the hearth. As the sunlight streamed through the window, he recognized right away that she was reading his well-worn volume of Keats' poetry…

* * *

A/N: *The full flashback from 1920 that alarmed Edith "You mean everything to me…" can be found in my one-shot, "Passing."

Thank you, as always, for reading and reviewing! (I apologize for the month or so between this and the previous chapter—thesis complete—yes, that is a choir of angels breaking out in a Hallelujah chorus!)


	14. Chapter 14

Edith didn't sleep much at all. The nap the Wednesday afternoon prior sufficed until the early morning hours. During the most wakeful periods, dressed in her simple white nightgown, she slipped back into Anthony's room to check on him—to watch him sleep, more peaceful now than in the past days in Downton; she brushed his hair back with her fingers and felt the warmth of his skin, his cheek, and let her fingers drift along his neck to his shoulder and his chest to gently lift his shirt enough to check the dressing, touching him lightly until he murmured in his sleep, his eyes almost drifting open. Fearing she might wake him, she would back away then, and, reluctantly, return to her room, smiling.

Sitting now in the chair by the fire, Edith soaked in Keats' poetry. When she glanced up from the pages, she saw his blue eyes first, watching her intently, and then his smile. "Good morning," she said, returning his smile.

"Good morning."

Anthony, lay there, in awe of her hair in the early morning light—she'd parted the curtains just enough for the early sun to shine—and her nightgown, which she had yet to change.

"Did you sleep well?" She rose from the chair, slipped a bookmark between the pages, and walked to his bedside.

"Very well. Glad to be home." Anthony reached for her left hand and kissed it, his lips briefly grazing the back of it. "Are you?"

"Hmm?" Edith set the book on his nightstand.

"Are you…Edith—are you glad to be home?" It was a bold question, full of promise—and Anthony knew it.

Edith hesitated, then nodded—choosing to trust him and this newfound confidence he exhibited. He was different; she only hoped that difference, that profound change that occurred within him would be strong enough outside of their isolation. "Yes…I am."

"Good. Did you sleep well?"

"Not really; I'm afraid I just didn't need much at all, not given our afternoon rest. I checked on you a few times during the night and slept just a bit, but I'm fine." Edith closed her eyes, feeling his hand touch her cheek, twine a curl with his fingers.

"I'm getting my appetite back, I think—shall we have some breakfast? And then you can fill me in on Keats…"

Edith grinned. "Something tells me from the way this book is worn that I don't need to fill you in on much at all."

Anthony grinned, sheepish at being unable to hide from the evidence. "I'm curious then what you were smiling about when I woke. What were you reading?"

Edith took his hand from attending to her hair—which Anthony couldn't seem to get enough of—and laced her fingers through his, holding their hands in front of them together. "Let me ring for breakfast and we'll talk more…"

"I love this gown," he whispered. "But I think you should change before you ring for anyone." She could hear the amusement _and _desire at once in his voice.

Edith looked down, then at her gown—a more modern open collar that revealed little, save for the teasing of her neck and shoulders that enchanted him, and a fitted bodice that rather emphasized her feminine figure. The pink of varying shades that quickly spread from her neck to her ears only made her more beautiful to him as she tried to stand up. He held her there for a moment though, her hand still in his.

"My darling, I hope you never tire of hearing me tell you how beautiful you are…like you are right now…" He held her hand to him once more and kissed it.

She considered his words, her voice distant in reply. "I don't think that will ever be possible…I feel like I've waited forever to hear it…"

Anthony saw the expression, the pain in her eyes—and he felt it, too. Despite the years, Edith felt the doubts on occasion at having not been the "beautiful" sister, having to compete with Mary or simply settle for everything her entire life. His warm breath and lips at her fingertips brought her back to his sweet blue eyes looking up at her. "Then it's settled," he said. "I shall tell you every day at least a dozen times until you wish me to stop."

Edith smiled, "Of course you will, and I suppose I shall tolerate it," her tone dry, but her eyes flickering and giving away the jest. She shook her head a bit, refreshing her mind to the situation and her nightgown and the time of morning. "You need Stewart here and I shall change and ring Mrs. Brandon for some of that breakfast you're hungry for—and then—" The sun caught her eyes perfectly then, causing Anthony to stare. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he said. "Just—well, I know it's still only our first conversation of the day and this will already begin counting against me towards that dozen, but you're—well, your eyes and the sun," he laughed. "I'm lovesick on top of being practically bed-ridden, sweet one. You're just so beautiful and I feel the luckiest man alive to have you here, to see you—" He leaned towards her, his hand, now gently letting go of hers, reached and touched her cheek and then trailed the neck of her gown—light, reverent. "To see you like this…" He sighed and smiled again as his eyes appreciated her every curve.

"And it's only our first morning here…" She said, an amused lilt in her voice. But she backed away towards the bell for Stewart. "I'll ring and then disappear until breakfast." Edith appeared to wink at him, Anthony still mesmerized by her. "Keats…be thinking of poetry, my love," she commanded, raising her eyebrows.

"What have I gotten myself into, allowing you to stay here?" Anthony sighed, a mocking grin entertaining Edith and causing her to giggle. He became serious again soon enough, his grin disappearing and polite gentleman returned with a slight bow of his head. "See you in a bit, darling."

The lightness and laughter felt strange to him after the previous years of pained solitude, but he welcomed the change. As he rose from his bed, he opened his shirt to check the wound at his side and looked up at the knock at the door.

"Come in."

Stewart entered. "May I help you, Sir?"

"Yes, please. I'd like to re-establish our morning routine now that I'm home, despite a shave and shower so recently. Let's get back to normal as quickly as possible. And breakfast?"

"Mrs. Brandon is already cooking, Sir. And it's quite a feast—she's more than happy to have you back and nurse you with food, Sir," Stewart said, smiling.

Anthony laughed. "Of course, well, I suppose there are worse things—she's been wanting to put weight back on me since I returned from the war, blessed woman that she is."

By the time Edith knocked a short while later, Anthony was again freshly shaved and wearing a lightweight button down shirt and comfortable slacks. She sat down opposite him at their makeshift dining area and smiled.

"You look much better even from last night," she commented. "Younger, too, I think."

"Really?" Anthony frowned. "Hmm. It's my nursing staff—best care I've ever received." The frown reversed into a crooked grin.

Edith helped herself to the breakfast trays already brought up by Stewart and Mrs. Brandon. "So…Keats?"

"Yes, tell me, what pleased you so this morning? Your smile was quite captivating when I first laid eyes on you," Anthony said, finishing his eggs, and reaching for some toast.

"'Modern Love,'" Edith said, taking her first bite of Mrs. Brandon's spread. "My God, this woman's food is wonderful…"

Edith took another bite. Anthony politely waited for her and then said, "What did you think of the poem?"

"It's sharp and…right on the mark, I believe. Of course, before the war I might not have felt that way, but after what I've seen—what we've all seen…there's such truth in it." Then, she took a sip of coffee, and grinned. "I think you looked at me though as I read the last line and I had to almost laugh at the notion of loving 'in spite of beaver hats,'" Edith laughed. "He certainly made his point!"

Anthony, too, nodded and laughed.

"Do you have a favorite?" Edith asked, finishing the egg and dabbing butter on her toast.

Anthony pondered. "Depends, I suppose. During the war, 'O Solitude' seemed to be my constant refrain…"

Edith cocked her head to an angle, as though trying to recall it until Anthony prompted her with some lines: "'Let it not be among the jumbled heap/Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep/Nature's observatory—whence the dell/In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell…Where the deer's swift leap/Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell…'" He paused. "Those are my favorite lines…reminded me a bit of Locksley, I suppose. At times, reciting poetry in my head was the only activity that kept me relatively sane while I was-away." His features took on a distant look again and Edith, seeing him catch himself before saying too much, sought to ease any anxiety.

"Do you have other favorites? I noticed 'Woman! When I behold thee…' was marked. Oh, and, of course, 'Bright Star'…" Edith prodded, gently, and then took her last bite of toast.

"Yes, I have a soft spot for love poems and sonnets," he confessed quietly, his face revealing a slight blush.

Edith sipped her coffee again and dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin, and her eyes settled on him. Then, she stood. He, too, backed his chair away to stand up, but she stopped him and instead carefully sat in his lap. As she did so, Edith took his right arm in her hands.

"I adore you—and the poetry and literature lover in you that you seem to keep hidden from the rest of the world." She kissed the back of his hand and looked at him, a secret understanding in the softness of her eyes, and she quietly voiced it: "You were always so kind to everyone, really, but you're so good—so practiced—at keeping that…that sort of stoic and polite, gentlemanly distance…no one would ever guess, I think."

"You did—you knew that first drive together, Edith…"

She smiled and noticed the sadness in his expression then, a wistful look. "I did notice. More importantly," she said, lifting his face to meet hers, "I feel like it's special that you let me see you otherwise…sweet, romantic even. Something more than that…"

"It's true. You awakened something in me. I was so taken with you." Anthony stroked the back of her hand with his thumb for several moments looking down at their hands and tracing a pattern, both quiet and refusing to dredge up what happened next. "Edith, what I felt then…" He hesitated, uncertain of the words.

"Yes?"

"I want you to know—to be sure of us—but I want you to know more than anything that what I felt for you before the war and even after when we were engaged before…it's not even comparable to what I feel now, darling."

Edith kissed him then, a breezy touch of her lips against his, and said, "I know. I think before the war I was just a girl—taken with your attentions at first, but it developed into something more and then you were gone... I know I loved you then, but it was different. Now, it's just so much more. This time together…it's fixed so much…" She looked down at her hands now holding his damaged arm. She unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeve, pushing it up to his elbow, and Anthony—curious—watched her, silent.

"Can you feel this?" She grazed her fingertips lightly from the inside of his elbow down his smooth forearm, slowly over his wrist, and then pressing more firmly into the heel of his hand moving the pads of her fingers all the way to meet the tips of his, their palms together. There was no movement from his arm or hand—no involuntary nerve twitches indicating life...nothing at all.

"I wish I could, sweet one."

Edith wasn't certain what to expect, but she felt her throat constrict at the evidence of just how badly he'd been hurt and she wanted to fix that, too.

Anthony stared at their hands together until she lifted her hand to touch his cheek, the back of her hand guiding him towards her again. As she did, his left arm pulled her closer, and she kissed him with urgency and reassurance.

"I love you," she said, moving against his lips. "Every bit of you…perfect to me…just want to love you," she finished, never allowing the parting of her lips from his but needing to say the words, needing for him to hear them.

Anthony didn't respond, save for the eagerness of his mouth on hers and the feel of her body against his. Moments later, a knock at the door startled them.

"Yes?"

Stewart opened the door, only leaning in. "Dr. Clarkson called, Sir, and he'd like to check in on you shortly. Is that all right, Sir?"

Anthony smiled at Edith. "It is, yes, Stewart. Thank you. We'll—no, sorry, I'll be waiting for him. Lady Edith will make herself scarce, I'm sure."

"Very good, Sir," Stewart said, closing the door after him.

Anthony kissed Edith again, slowly, sensually—knowing it would be a final one before she returned to her room for the duration of Dr. Clarkson's visit.

Edith, her lips lingering close to his still, teased, "Do you recall what I said earlier about being such a gentleman? My God, your kisses aren't stoic or polite at all…" she laughed.

He lifted his chin and tilted his head. "Really? And how would you describe those kisses then?"

"Tender, warm…passionate…" Seeing the pleasure and pride in his reaction, she added, "Absolutely delicious."

"You shall have them any time you wish," he vowed.

"Promise?" She said, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

Anthony repeated, closer to her ear. "Any time you wish, sweet one…"

Edith forced herself to stand. "I should go. I'll be out of sight until Dr. Clarkson leaves. Stewart can come find me when all is clear."

Anthony stood, too, and they held each other—a lasting embrace—at his door. He leaned on the door frame and watched her walk down the corridor and wave to him before slipping into the guest room and closing her door.

When Dr. Clarkson arrived, he examined the wound and stitching carefully. "I'll remove them tomorrow, if that's all right with you?"

"Of course—is it really healing that well?"

The doctor nodded. "Faster than I would have thought. Didn't Mr. Branson say the assailant was intoxicated?"

Anthony nodded. "He was—an utterly drunk and foolish man."

"Yes, well, lucky for you he was as that may have helped keep him from causing more serious damage. Of course, the loss of blood was bad enough for you-it was quite serious initially. Sir Anthony, it could have been much worse; I'm glad it wasn't." Dr. Clarkson stood then and shook Anthony's hand.

"Dr. Clarkson, does this mean I'm almost completely well then? I mean, as far as returning to routine and such? It's a busy season on the farms, as you know."

"Yes, I think so. Just take it quite easy. I'll remove the stitches in the morning. You'll still need to be careful and it'll take some time to regain your energy—as you well know from being in the hospital before."

Anthony shook his head. "It doesn't feel nearly as bad as that. I'm much better, I think—almost normal again, thank God."

Dr. Clarkson took his bag from the floor and moved to take his leave. "And your arm? Any changes?"

Anthony shook his head, remembering Edith's gesture the hour before. "No, I'm afraid not. Thank you again, Dr. Clarkson. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Keep resting, Sir Anthony. See you tomorrow."

The remainder of the day Anthony and Edith spent in his room, reading in the chairs by the fire or on his bed…Edith by his feet near the opposite end, lying on her stomach, or her back, alternating positions as necessary as the hours passed. Anthony's head rested on the pillow, a pen in one hand and a book nearby with papers… But his attention stayed rapt on her… Plans for his proposal drifted through his mind and each time Edith looked up she caught his blue eyes peering at her, completely immersed in her.

"Are you really working?" She asked, her lips curving upward.

"Not in the least…can't seem to get a thing done…" Anthony conceded, so content with the distraction and love of this woman who wanted him, was choosing him—to have her life intertwine and tangle and weave and marry so perfectly and unexpectedly with his own…

* * *

A/N: Apologies for the delay again...graduation and family time and such. With the MA done and summer here, more time for my real passions...and this is certainly one of them. Your lovely reviews absolutely make my day and are the fuel to this flame. Thank you so much for reading and letting me know what you think!


	15. Chapter 15

Dr. Clarkson arrived promptly Friday morning after breakfast, just as Edith—almost caught after a final kiss from Anthony—disappeared first silently to her room and then downstairs and out the back to the orchards for a walk amongst the flowering trees. Anthony endured the removal of the stitches, pleased to be free of them but in pain from the process itself. After a brief chat with the doctor and a short rest, he walked down the stairs and followed the path he knew she would have taken.

"Hello." She called to him from the bench, her book set aside as she rose to greet him.

"Hello, love."

"All well?" She kissed him on the cheek, taking his right hand—he didn't bother with the sling given how much time they were spending in his room—in hers and falling in step beside him as they turned to walk back to the house.

Anthony slowed their pace a bit, feeling the strain in his side from the still taut skin. "Yes, the procedure's done and if I need him again, I can call. But yes, I think I'm practically recovered."

Edith held his arm closer to her, leaning into him. "But you still need plenty of rest and I intend to make certain you do not injure yourself again. So, plans for the weekend?"

Anthony looked down at her, "Only to spend it with you," he said. "I thought a picnic might be nice soon, if you would like?"

"Yes, that sounds wonderful," she agreed, holding the door to the back foyer for him.

Friday passed then and Saturday, too, the two of them eating together, laughing, and sharing different readings aloud as they came across them while resting in bed. On occasion, Edith distracted him from work he needed to complete for the season for his tenant farmers…a hand lingering on his forearm as they lay side by side or the dangling of a bare foot in midair as she read laying on her stomach across his bed. The evenings provided the most temptation though as night fell and parting became a prolonged affair of whispers, flirtations, and promises made between kisses…

Sunday provided the perfect slightly overcast afternoon for a picnic luncheon, which Mrs. Brandon lovingly packed for them and they walked through the orchard to a quiet spot by the edge of the creek. Anthony, still treating his side gingerly, managed to lay on the blanket beside Edith, who sat cross-legged by the basket. She doted on him, feeding him fruit and the sandwiches in between her own bites of the delicious food. After she tucked away the plentiful leftovers and the dishes, she moved by him and cradled his head in her lap as she leaned back and looked up into the trees and sky.

"We must do this again," Edith said.

"Yes, this is the perfect way to spend an afternoon, but it appears it may rain soon," he said, his look of adoration forcing a beautiful smile from her as the breeze blew her curls astray.

"I don't want to go just yet though—"

Anthony started to sit up, but Edith's hands rested on his chest and shoulders weighing him down. "Darling, I know you want to stay, but I don't want you to catch cold if it does rain…"

Just as he finished saying it, sprinkles fell. Edith saw the spots on his white shirt and then on her copper blouse. She looked at him, smiling and a bit defiant. "I love the gentle rainfall; please stay…just for a bit…stay with me…" She shifted, moving her body out from under him to lie beside him on the blanket.

To her delight, Anthony succumbed, kissing her as the rain fell on the two of them. For the next minutes, they held each other, hidden from the world in the quiet of Locksley, and let the rain soak them to the skin…

That evening, dry finally, and warmed by the fire in his room, Anthony embraced her as they stood by the fire.

"Thank you for the picnic," she whispered. "I know what I'll be dreaming of tonight." Edith's hands roamed the length of his back and then she reluctantly pulled away, touching his cheek.

"It was a rather perfect afternoon…rain and all," Anthony admitted.

She kissed him once more. "Good night."

"Good night, sweet one."

Anthony watched her walk out the door and closed it behind her, wishing in the most needful and indecent way that she would walk back in—wanting to complete what they had begun that afternoon in the orchard. _"Anthony, I want you…" _she had whispered to him as they lay together in the rain… Anthony had stopped them then, knowing they shouldn't; he'd held back, reminding her that his side was still vulnerable, that soon they would marry. For Anthony, all of his late night imaginings came back to him now as he climbed into bed, fantasies so crisp and clear in his mind that he knew it would only be a matter of time before he wouldn't be able to resist her...

* * *

Sunday evening settled in quietly in the upstairs halls of Downton. The children were in bed much earlier, with Tom and Mary each seeing to them before turning in themselves.

Cora pulled the covers back on the bed and Robert did the same on his side. "What're you thinking?" he asked.

"Just wondering how Anthony's faring after his injury."

Robert climbed into bed, silent.

Cora went on. "I imagine Edith will be back soon to see him, if she can get away from London…"

"But Gregson may not appreciate—"

"Robert."

"What?" Robert's eyes narrowed on his wife. "Cora?"

Cora smiled at him, which he took as pity and he huffed. "What is it?"

"Robert, do you really think that she could look at any man after what happened here this week? She didn't leave his side; I highly doubt Michael Gregson could keep her attention in London for very long."

Robert sighed. "I suppose you're right, dear wife." He patted her leg under the blanket and she moved closer to him, adjusting her pillow to sit beside him. "Perhaps…"

"What?"

"Oh, I don't know—I hate to dredge up the past."

"How do you mean?"

Robert thought, then looked at Cora. "Perhaps we should invite Anthony to dinner—you know, when Edith's here—just to make certain he's well and that our daughter's fine; I do worry about Edith. That way we'll all be done with it. What do you think?"

Cora leaned her head on Robert's shoulder. "Are you…certain that it's 'all done' or are you giving them a fresh start?"

"Oh," he took a breath. "I don't know—Mama is still not crazy about the idea and you know how she can be with 'I told you so' remarks."

"What do you think, Robert? What do you honestly think is right for Edith?" Cora lifted her head, touching Robert's cheek and coaxing his eyes to look into hers.

Robert smiled, but his tone was one of submission. "I think our darling girl is—and has been—in love with Anthony Strallan—and I think there's little I can do about it." Cora smiled at him and her eyebrows rose acknowledging, subtly, her victory. "I know—I know. I shall speak with him when—if—he comes to dinner."

"And?"

Robert kissed her on the forehead, her expression still not changing. "And I shall see if he has intentions regarding her and, if he does, I shall give him my blessing—my forthright, wholehearted blessing and wish him and Edith well."

"Good." Cora kissed Robert softly on the lips. "Then, we shall plan a wedding."

Robert rolled his eyes. "Again."

Cora nudged him in the ribs. "Yes, but this time is different."

"You really think so? You really think Strallan will marry her now?"

"I do." She grinned at her own choice of words. "I had a feeling when Edith refused to leave him during his stay here that…that _they _were different. Certainly when he left here and we all saw his reaction to Tom and Sybil things changed for all of us—didn't they? I mean, Robert, he almost died. And he was helping us—helping Tom and trying to redeem himself in our eyes. Doesn't it seem that way?" Cora looked at Robert's face now sober and his eyes staring ahead.

"It rather does seem that way, yes. I shall have to consider how to break this to Mama—the idea of us approving of their marriage, if that is what they wish to happen." Robert half-smiled now and turned to Cora. "When shall we invite him?"

"Hmm—he's only been back home at Locksley a few days—perhaps I should inquire after him and we can plan on a dinner in a couple of weeks if he's doing well?"

Robert nodded. "Sounds like enough time."

Cora moved to embrace her husband. "I'm proud of you."

Robert raised an eyebrow, "Are you?" He smiled. "Do tell me more."

Robert turned his lamp off and Cora reached for hers…

* * *

Stewart stood at the front door and watched Lawrence holding the car door for Cora Crawley as she emerged from the vehicle.

"Good morning, Stewart," she said, smiling.

"Good morning, Lady Grantham," he said, holding the door for her to enter the foyer.

"Is Sir Anthony well enough for a visitor? I apologize—I should have called first."

Stewart shook his head. "Not at all, milady. I'm sure he'll be delighted to see you. I'll be glad to show you to the library and let him know you're here."

After settling Cora in the library, Stewart dutifully made his way up the stairs to Anthony's room making sure his footfalls were heard along the corridor in the event that Edith and Anthony were together in his room.

Stewart knocked.

"Come in."

Anthony and Edith lay in his bed—his head on the pillow with a pen and ledger nearby, book in hand, and Edith's head on a pillow at his feet stretched out reading. Both fully clothed, Stewart noted.

"I'm sorry to disturb, Sir."

"Not at all, Stewart, what is it?" Anthony asked, sitting up and Edith watching with a smile as he brushed his blonde hair back off his forehead.

"Lady Grantham is here to see you, Sir," Stewart said.

Anthony looked at Edith, who shrugged. "You should stay up here," he said. He walked to his wardrobe and slipped into his boots. "Stewart, please let her know I'll be down in a moment. Edith will help me with my sling."

"Of course, Sir. She's in the library. Shall I bring tea?"

"Yes, Stewart, perfect. Thank you." Stewart took his leave.

Edith quickly moved from the bed and reached to hold him close, her arms around his body as he smoothed her hair. After a moment letting him hold her there, she pulled away and gently placed his arm in the sling and secured it, then petted her favorite lock of hair that had fallen again to his forehead, and kissed him. "I don't know what this is about, but…I love you."

"I love you. I'm sure it's nothing. I'll be back, darling."

Anthony felt the fluttering of nerves in his stomach as he descended the stairs, not quite knowing what to expect from Cora.

He opened the door and she turned and smiled at him. "Hello, Sir Anthony."

"Lady Grantham." He took her hand and bowed slightly. "Anthony, please."

Cora gave him a sideways glance and a smile. "Cora then, please."

"Of course, please, sit down. Stewart will be here with tea in a moment. I hope you haven't waited long?"

"No, just a few minutes." Cora noticed his casual appearance—a plain white button down shirt and black trousers—and the coloring of his features. "How are you? You seem to be doing much better?"

Anthony sat down in the chair opposite Cora's place on the sofa. "Yes, much better, thank you. Dr. Clarkson approves, which is a good sign," he said, his focus drifted from Cora to the door and then back to her. "I thank you again for the kindness and hospitality—"

"Anthony, it's quite all right. I'm glad everything has returned to normal, so to speak." Cora paused. "Have you heard from Edith?"

She gauged his reaction, carefully observing the expression and color in his face, which Anthony knew must be absolutely crimson given the instant heat he felt rising in him. "Yes, of course. She's been…quite concerned." He couldn't lie, but he couldn't risk giving the two of them away either.

Cora's smile widened. "I see. I thought she might be…given—well, given how she feels about you."

Anthony's brow furrowed. "Oh? How do you mean exactly? Of course, she's always been quite kind and attentive—"

"Oh, Anthony, I think we both know what I mean." Cora's eyes crinkled with her smile.

Stewart appeared with tea and the two of them remained quiet while he served them. "Will there be anything else, Sir?"

"That'll be all, Stewart—thank you." Anthony smiled politely and Stewart gave nothing away in his expression. _Thank God he's discreet_, Anthony thought.

Cora took a sip of her tea. "So, you do know what I mean?"

Anthony appeared confused. "I'm sorry?"

"Edith is in love with you."

Anthony almost choked as he tried to sip his tea with an air of nonchalance, spilling some on his trousers. He set the cup back down on the saucer and reached for a napkin from the tray.

"I'm sorry," Cora said, almost laughing. "I didn't mean to shock you. I was certain you knew." On the inside, Cora couldn't help it—she enjoyed seeing this sweet gentleman flustered and stammering.

"Yes, well," Anthony began, dabbing at the spots with the napkin. "I mean—yes, I am aware of her feelings. We…we had a chance…well, sort of, to talk while I was recovering at Downton…and…" He couldn't fully explain it. Anthony Strallan, staring at his future mother-in-law, could only admit, "I love her, too. Lady Grantham, please understand—"

"Cora, Anthony—not Lady Grantham." She couldn't contain the happiness she felt—not only because she was right about Anthony and Edith, but because there was such joy in the notion of love in her family again after all the tragedy they had endured in the past eighteen months.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I love her—I love Edith and…I'm so sorry for the mistake I ma—"

"It's in the past, Anthony."

"But Lord Grantham—"

She held up her hand to stop him. "Robert knows it's in the past as well. Truly." Anthony tilted his head, giving away his slight skepticism. "Anthony, everything changed in the past week. You have to trust me."

Anthony looked away from her, taking a deep breath and relaxing. He reached for his tea and sipped it, contemplating how much he should tell Cora.

Once his eyes met her gaze again, he knew. "I do trust you—Cora."

"And you have intentions then…towards my daughter?"

Anthony sat up straighter in the chair and put his cup of tea aside again. His voice deep and clear, he said, "As a matter of fact, yes, I do—serious intentions of making things right. Before I had a different understanding of what was 'right' for her, but as you say, this past week has changed everything. I think…I tried to convince Edith, to keep her from tying herself to me, but…" He half-smiled at the realization. "But she—"

"Loves you anyway."

Anthony nodded. "Yes," he whispered. "I, myself, can't see why…"

Cora shook her head for a moment and then smiled again. "I can," she assured him.

Anthony eyed her, curious, but only smiled.

"And you intend to…?" She waited.

"I intend to propose to her—but not without speaking to Lord Grantham." Then, Cora saw the worried look Anthony gave her, doubting himself and looking away again, his eyes glancing about the room.

"Anthony, I don't think you need to worry about Robert. But yes, the two of you should talk. I think when you see Edith again," she paused, a certain feeling welling up inside her as she saw him blush again, "you should discuss that proposal with her." Cora's face broke into another smile as she felt the pieces come together then. "You've heard from Edith then recently?"

He nodded.

"Hmmm—still in London?" She asked.

Before she forced Anthony to lie, Cora grinned. "Of course she is, I know. Mr. Gregson called the other day to discuss her article and realized he'd made a mistake phoning Downton—that she'd already returned to her London flat. I'll send her a post and be sure she comes by to see you when she's in Yorkshire again soon, assuming of course that she hasn't been in touch with you already?" Cora delighted in this tease—knowing too well her daughter was quite safe when it came to staying at Locksley with Anthony, but happy for them both and this time they were presumably able to spend together alone. "Let's not waste any more time than necessary if you two plan to marry."

"She, of course, has to accept my offer," Anthony said.

"I think I know my daughter and—you do as well, Anthony—so I think we both know that will not be the issue." And with the confident, conspiratorial smile she gave him, any doubts Anthony had about Cora knowing Edith's exact whereabouts disappeared. The heat he felt from his neck to his ears quite obvious to his guest.

"Of course then—no more time than is necessary." He agreed.

Cora stood to leave. "I should go—you look flushed. Some rest might be in order for you." She walked towards the door, "It's been lovely to chat and thank you for the tea, but I really must be returning. I apologize for the surprise visit. I'm glad, Anthony, I'm very glad you're feeling well."

"Not at all—I'm glad you came. I hope you know you are welcome any time." Their knowing smiles allowed the sins of omission to remain…hidden. Anthony gained new respect for Cora Crawley and her clever ways, though they nearly did him in there in his own library; she was genuine and he could tell that she was clearly relishing this charade, that she knew her daughter well enough to know that Edith hadn't gone back to London to stay— if she had gone there at all.

Anthony followed her out to the car to see her out.

Cora got in and turned back to him. "I do hope we'll be seeing you again soon at Downton."

"I'd be honored, Lady Grantham," he said, his manner polite, the perfect gentleman as she'd always known him to be.

"The invitation will be coming soon, I promise, but not before you're up to it. Take care, Anthony." She glanced once more at the house, toward the second floor windows, and Anthony followed her eyes for a moment to see a curtain flutter. Cora looked back at him. "Good-bye now."

The car disappeared down the road and Anthony returned to his room to find Edith in his bed, pretending to read. "I presume you looked out the window?"

She laughed, more from nerves at the possibility of being found out than anything else. "I couldn't resist. I wanted to know why she was here. What's going on?"

He sat on the bed and then reclined and leaned his back against the pillows. Edith crawled towards him and curled next to him. "Your mother knows," he said, awaiting her reaction.

Edith stared up at him, her beautiful brown eyes wide. "What? Are you sure?"

Anthony almost laughed. "Yes, I'm absolutely certain. The hints she dropped were unmistakable, darling."

"What else did she say?"

Anthony touched Edith's cheek. "She asked my intentions towards you."

Edith, now too excited to simply lie beside him, moved to sit in his lap sideways with her head on his shoulder and her arms around his neck. His left arm stroked her back. "And what, pray tell, did you say your intentions were, Sir Anthony Strallan?"

"I told her I intended to propose to you and to speak with your father."

"And is that true?" Edith asked.

Anthony grinned. "It is. I do intend to ask his blessing. She indicated a dinner invitation would be coming soon. I have every intention of proposing to you—properly— either before or after I speak with your father, dearest. If he approves, then that's wonderful; if he doesn't, then we're marrying anyway…if you really want me?"

Edith smiled and kissed him. "Oh yes, I most certainly do want you." Cuddling closer to him, nuzzling his neck, Edith became more pensive. "Do you think Mama approves?"

"I do."

"Really?"

"Yes, I really do, judging by the twinkle in her eye and the grin she gave me. I've never seen her smile like that."

Edith chuckled. "Like what?"

"Like she's…planning? Like she's up to something, perhaps?" Anthony speculated, amused.

"Hmmm…I think it may be as simple as she's always rather liked you." She kissed his neck.

"You're sure?" Anthony's voice cracked, as her breath and the touch of her lips affected him.

"Absolutely…" She breathed in his ear.

"Edith…" he managed, his tone low—warning her.

She ignored him. Between trailing kisses from his jaw down the line of his neck, she offered her reasons. "You're a perfect…gentleman…kind…handsome…so incredibly intelligent…and your eyes….ooohh…your blue eyes…"

Anthony tried to stay still, refusing to encourage her and trying to endure the affection gracefully without giving in. Now that he was well, these interludes were becoming more and more dangerous for them both. "Edith—please."

Edith stopped, knowing his prudence would win out. "Sorry."

His hand caressed her jaw and cheek, a fingertip tracing her upper lip. "Don't be sorry, sweet one—surely the amount of anticipation for our wedding night is only exponentially increasing with each moment of this intimacy we're enjoying?" He smiled, hoping to appease her.

"Exponentially?" Edith's eyes looked down for only a moment and she tossed her tousled hair with her hand before meeting his gaze again, her eyebrow arching. "I do believe you're right…and if that anticipation is anything like the actual pleasure I'm looking forward to…" She exhaled, her smile beyond beautiful to him. "Oh dear, Anthony Strallan…I think we have _eight year_s of anticipatory build-up! I don't think I'll be able to stand it…"

As Edith looked at him, Anthony gave her a playful grin and assured her, "You'll have our bed, darling—you can trust me…there won't be much _standing _to be done at all…not the first night, at least." They laughed together, then, between adoring and mostly innocent kisses, until Stewart announced dinner a short while later...


	16. Chapter 16

Edith and Anthony had been home at Locksley for almost a week when two posts arrived.

The dinner invitation from Downton that Cora hinted would arrive soon was opened first. "It's for next Friday, the 26th," Anthony said, passing the card to Edith.

She read it and looked over at him. "What do you think?"

Anthony thought for a moment, assessing the situation. "I think I should make certain you're available to join me the evening of the 26th. Lady Edith, would you like to accompany me to dinner?"

"I'm certain I'm _expected_ to be there, but…you want me to _arrive _with you?"

"Yes, I do." Anthony didn't blink. "I want you on my arm, so there is no question in anyone's mind our intentions—if, of course, that's all right with you?"

"It's perfect," she said. Edith set her teacup down and reached to embrace him. "You're so certain…"

"I am—you've…you being with me…" He couldn't find the words.

Instead of clarifying or letting him fumble for the words, Edith kissed him. "I know," and that was all she needed to say.

It was the second post that changed them.

_To: Sir Anthony Strallan, Locksley, Yorkshire_

_Major Strallan, I hope this finds you well in Yorkshire. Sadly, I'm writing to inform you of terrible news—again. I regret to inform you of the death of Lt. Thomas Simmons, who took his own life at St. Andrews following his long-term care there. The funeral was held posthaste given the circumstances and his family's wishes. _

_Sincerely,_

_Capt. Thomas Conrad_

"No…" Anthony whispered.

Edith looked up from re-reading the dinner invitation. "Anthony?" Edith watched him, saw his face pale and his hand begin to shake. "Anthony, are you all right?"

His mouth dry, Anthony couldn't speak. His stomach turned as nausea overwhelmed him.

Edith reached for him, but he backed away from her. "What is it? Please—Anthony, hand me the letter." Anthony barely held it out for her and she took it from his hand with care.

Before she finished it, Anthony turned and was retreating upstairs to his room beginning to double-over, holding his stomach with his left arm. She followed him and caught up just as he reached the top of the stairs. Cautious, she approached him now standing at the edge of the long corridor. "Anthony?" When he turned to her, she saw the tears—and the anguish in his eyes and noticed his shallow breaths. Edith took his hand, brushing past him, and quickly led him to the bedroom.

Still quiet, Anthony sat stunned on the edge of the bed. Edith helped him remove his boots. "Come here," she said, motioning for him to lie down on his side, and she melded her body to his from behind, resting her head on his back. Edith reached under his left arm to encircle him as best she could and he quickly took her hand in his and held it to his heart. After a moment, she felt his chest and his body trembling as he gave in to the reopened wounds that engulfed him. For long minutes she held him.

"Anthony?"

"He was a young lieutenant on the mission to rescue us. He was badly injured—permanently so—helping me…as we escaped..." He swallowed, trying to breathe deeply, but she could still feel him quivering against her. "I visited him several times over the past years, but the despair was always there. He couldn't get away from it. I can't tell you anything more of what happened..."

"But Anthony—"

"I can't. Please don't, Edith. I'm obligated to protect—"

Edith shifted and got up, walking around the bed to climb in beside him and be face-to-face. "I know you can't talk about it, but there are things I know—from Downton during the war and from my work interviewing those who were involved in the war."

Anthony lifted his head and shook it, a hushed protest, and then his plea, "No, I can't…"

She brushed his hair back with her hand, and then she began unbuttoning his shirt. Anthony tried to stop her, but she said, "I need to see it."

Uncertain what she was doing, but knowing his past was now at her mercy, Anthony relented and simply watched as she guided him onto his back and opened his shirt completely, sliding it off of his arms one at a time. She traced the scars along his right shoulder and chest, the upper portion of his arm. "You were shot through here—a clean shot?" she whispered, and he nodded—tense. "But that wasn't all—was it?"

Edith paused, staring at the scars and then into his eyes. He didn't have to say anything because she began to put the pieces together herself, cringing at the images that came as she pictured it happening. "You were injured and…had to be rescued…so you were shot and…they took you, didn't they?"

Anthony's right brow bent and his mouth opened slightly to try to stop her, but no words came and she continued—delicately solving his silence. "I know—I saw things, horrible things at Downton that were done to men on the battlefield…but you weren't on the battlefield, were you? Dr. Clarkson mentioned your medals—your bravery…" Anthony winced at the mention of them; Edith's hand moved to smooth his face, to comfort him. Then, her fingertips moved lightly over the viciously maimed flesh, a nightmarish mosaic of pink and stark white markings on his shoulder and his upper arm. She circled the outside of the bullet wound, her voice fragile, "You knew things and you were shot…but you couldn't get away, is that it? Am I right—did they take you…captive?"

He didn't answer, his eyes boring into hers, imploring her to stop.

"What did they do to you?" Edith's eyes pooled with tears. "They—Anthony—please…tell me they didn't hurt you…further?" She closed her eyes tightly then, unable to look at him. "Oh God." Edith kept her voice controlled, the tone wavering only slightly, but her tears fell to her cheeks. "Anthony, I interviewed men the Germans held—I heard things—terrible things…please, darling, tell me they didn't …"

Anthony's own eyes closed, for fear of continuing to see her pain reflected in his. "War makes men into barbarians," he said, a strangled sort of whisper.

"You knew things, didn't you? And…Anthony, please say you weren't…tortured—that these other scars aren't…that they didn't use your injury…?" She clasped both hands to her mouth, "Oh my God, Anthony! I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry—"

He leaned forward, sitting up in the bed, and held her fast against him. "Sssshhh."

Edith sobbed, convulsing against his shoulder as he clutched her even tighter. When she tried to gather herself, she pulled away from him, "They broke you, didn't they? That's why…everything…just—they broke you, Anthony…"

He nodded for a moment. Anthony's own tears now threatened. "I did what I was called to do. I always tried to do my best to protect the men I worked with. During the escape, particularly then, I tried so hard, but I couldn't save everyone. I tried, but my wounds…I couldn't—well, even the younger men with their lives ahead of them—good men…boys really…that were part of our efforts…I couldn't give them their lives, Edith, I couldn't save them!" Her hands reached for his shoulders then and tried to hold him, to assuage the guilt weighing on him. Anthony took a deep breath, calming down, refocusing. His hand came up along her neck, into her hair, and he pressed her to him, their foreheads together. "But you're here now, putting me back together—healing me—giving us back, at least in some way, the years they took—and this healing wasn't possible before, not in just that month before the wedding when we were apart or with others and you didn't know..."

"I know," she said, "I know what you mean now—I see it now."

"I'm not broken any longer, Edith—just scarred." His hand gripped her neck, firmer, impressing upon her his need in this moment. "Can you—will you—are you certain you will love me despite them? Despite these dreadful times—these haunting and appalling reminders—of what happened and have to face it again? Are you sure?"

She affirmed him with a simple, "Yes."

"I love you…desperately," he breathed.

"I love you…even more." She smiled through the final tears that fell.

Anthony loosened his grip then and she pulled back to look at him and hold his face with her hands. "Edith, when I told you that night that you'd given me back my life…that was so true. I threw it away then. Are you sure you want me? Because I thought that month before the wedding—"

"Darling, we didn't have time, as you said, to be together. Do you feel stronger now? Aren't we stronger now facing this together this afternoon?"

He nodded, looking in her eyes. "Yes, I think we are."

"If—when—something happens again, do you see that it will only bring us closer?"

"Yes, I think so…you do still want to marry me then? Because I see us together, Edith, like I didn't before and—"

"I do, Anthony. I want to marry you and live with you and have your children and love you for the rest of our lives. And if you ever need me to say it again, I will. I won't tire of repeating it in order to reassure you—I promise." She still held his face then and kissed him. "I love you and will always."

The evening calm returned and they had dinner together again in his room. The looks across the table were enough for both of them, a remarkable peace found after such tumult from the news that afternoon which now appeared to be behind them.

Anthony gave her a lingering kiss goodnight, both in their nightclothes in the dark corridor, and she smiled as the door slowly closed between them, almost on its own as if Locksley itself knew a barrier were necessary for the two of them to part at all now. Before he turned to walk to his room, he heard her voice—just above a whisper—through the door. "I love you, Anthony Strallan." He knew based on the muffled timbre that she was still standing on the other side of it, her cheek leaning against it and her lips almost touching the door.

Anthony leaned into the door as well, placing his left hand on it where her cheek would be and letting his forehead rest against it. "I love you, Edith Crawley…" he paused, and then added, "soon-to-be Strallan." He shut his eyes, smiling and feeling the consuming joy within him at those words, hoping—knowing—that she felt the same.

Edith stood against the door for a few more seconds, trembling within her room, forcing her fingers to let go of the door handle rather than fling it open. She heard Anthony's smile in his final words, "Good night, sweet one," and she knew the deep resonance of his voice, warm and tender, would be her undoing for the rest of her existence—and she relished the thought that within a short time propriety and closed doors would no longer separate them.

A few hours later, Edith heard his scream shatter the quiet of the night.

"Edith! No—Edith!"

When she rushed into his room, he was sitting up in the bed, and his eyes were searching the darkness.

"Edith—"

"I'm here! Anthony—shhh…"

He reached for her, not quite believing she was real, and she took his hand in hers, holding it to her chest, and then touched his cheek with the other. "Shhh—it's all right. Everything's all right."

"You're safe?" Anthony's eyes tried to focus, but he was anxious and still glancing all about the room—terror causing his body to shiver.

Edith turned to look around the room. "Darling, it's all right—of course I'm safe. I'm here. We're home at Locksley." Her voice was controlled; she tried to keep it even, calm. Inside though, her heart was beating furiously and she didn't have Tom in the room to hold Anthony or keep him steady. She worried he was caught in the type of nightmare Dr. Clarkson warned them about at Downton after the assault. Edith continued to stroke his cheek and then through his hair, petting him, talking quietly to him. She tried to push him back to help him lie down, but he wouldn't.

"No—they were here," he insisted, his eyes shining, wide and frightened in the dark.

"Anthony, it's just me."

"No, they know—they've been looking for me. Edith—"

She took his face in both her hands and brought him close to her, forcing him to look into her eyes. "Anthony—we're home. It's over, darling. It's over and we're all safe."

Anthony swallowed, almost gasping for air. He tried to look away, but Edith didn't let him; she continued to look directly into his eyes until the panic subsided. He frowned, his face creased from worry.

"Anthony?"

He responded in broken, almost incomprehensible whispers, "You're safe? They—they didn't get to you? I swear I told them nothing—I tried to make it to you and—but they…they didn't…I mean…they didn't hurt you? You're not hurt, are you?" He was near tears and Edith sat, shocked for a moment, remembering that night at Downton when he first woke—nearly hysterical and utterly vulnerable.

"Yes," she nodded, her own eyes filling with tears. "I'm safe. I'm here _with_ _you_, aren't I?" She kissed him to affirm the present. "We're safe. I'm fine, darling."

Anthony blinked several times as though clearing his eyes of the haze of the confusion, the terror he felt; his breathing was uneven for a few moments as he tried to steady himself. He pulled her to him and she could feel the sweat and the pajamas and sheet and blanket clinging to him. He held her close, her head on his chest as they lay back down together, and her arms around him. "I'm so sorry…I didn't mean to—"

"No one plans on having a nightmare, Anthony. I think it's just the news from this afternoon—and you were, perhaps, too warm under the covers." Edith felt his heartbeat against her cheek—pounding in his chest. "It's all right, I promise," she assured him, letting her hand rest on his shirt. Edith felt the tension in his body, his chest and arm taut but she felt him trembling as he tried to take deeper breaths and calm down. "I'm just glad I was right across the hall."

His hand, still exhibiting slight tremors, traced her chin, and then his fingertips lifted her face so he could look at her—see her faint outline in the dark. "I need you closer…please." Edith couldn't stand the ache in his voice, the pleading, something intense that pierced her...

"You know I'll stay with you if that's what you want." She moved closer to lean on her elbow, to talk to him, but found that she was almost on top of him—her leg now curling up towards his waist, her body flush against his. "I'll get you a fresh shirt though…this one's…" Edith, caught up in his distress and unaware of the intimacy of the moment, took her hands from his body in an effort to move away and get up from the bed—until he touched her gown, catching her sleeve with his hand. She turned back to him, worried. "What is it?"

Staring at her slightly above him now, her gown silky and shimmering in what was left of the firelight, Anthony leaned forward, sitting up, whispering, desperate, "Closer, Edith…I need you," before brushing his lips against her gown at her shoulder…then her collar bone…

Edith, off-balance between standing and kneeling on the bed, caught herself with one knee on the edge of the bed and the other near Anthony's hip and her hands grasped his shoulders to steady herself. At the touch of his lips on her skin, she was startled, every nerve still sensitive and alert after the nightmare. Then, she stilled in front of him as he prolonged the open-mouth kisses at her neck, down to the hollow of her throat. Edith felt her body warm as his hand found the hem of her gown and lifted it, shifting her closer to him...

"Anthony?" Her whisper was hot against his ear. Her hands were in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting his mouth and his touch. He lifted his head for a moment to see her head back exposing her neck further, her eyes closed, her breaths faltering. Anthony's pause made Edith's eyes open, her fingers fisting in his hair as she held him closer, and then she tilted her head towards him, kissing his lips, letting him capture the low moan he evoked from her with his mouth, his hand beneath her gown, delighting in the touch of her bare skin.

The impatient, desperate kisses brought ragged and halting breaths, but they refused to part from one another. Edith's hands slipped down his back beneath his shirt, and then traced the line of his shoulders and his chest—kneading his muscles—before unbuttoning the shirt. She broke the kisses intermittently to focus on the buttons, to concentrate on the feel of them given that she couldn't see them.

Anthony removed his hand from beneath her gown, allowing her to push his shirt off more easily. She managed working around his right arm, as well, despite the distraction of finding his lips again and the feel of his left hand sweeping back under her gown, his fingers skimming up her side, to her stomach, and up further to find the gentle curve of her breasts—Edith's gasps and shuddering cries his reward for tender, passionate touches. She dropped his shirt on the bed beside them and urged him closer, stroking his jaw and the back of his neck, his mouth at her breast warm and wet through her gown.

"Anth…" Overwhelmed, Edith couldn't breathe. "Please…" The gown felt constricting now and she moved to sit up straighter, to pull it off over her head.

Watching her reach and begin to lift it to reveal herself to him, Anthony froze and suddenly spoke, "No, Edith—wait." He stopped her, pulling the gown back down.

Shy and surprised, Edith's mouth opened but she could only look down, her eyes searching. "I—I'm sorry?"

"No, no—don't be sorry. I'm sorry. I just—Edith—"

"You don't want me…? It certainly felt right and that you—" She was overcome with emotion.

Anthony's hand touched her cheek, and then forced her to look into his eyes. "I have never wanted anything more in my life than to make love to you right now, sweet one. Please believe me." He waited for understanding, forgiveness from her, but only heard hurt and frustration echoing back to him in the darkness.

"What are we waiting for, Anthony? We're to marry soon, aren't we? You're well now. We're scheduled for dinner at Downton to allow them in on our plans…what are we waiting for?" She finished, frustrated tears forming.

"But we're so close and I couldn't live with myself if I dishonored you—again—before attempting to gain the blessing of your family. I'm sorry, Edith. I'm sorry—I got carried away in my feelings, the nightmare; I had no right—"

"You have _every _right—I'm giving myself to you! I want you so much it hurts—it hurts me to walk away from you every night knowing that this, too, is wasted time…that we should be _together_." Edith dropped her head onto his shoulder, sniffling.

"You don't think it hurts me to wait? Well, of course it does, darling. How many times do you think I've imagined this scenario?"

Edith jerked her head up, staring at him. "You…have?"

Anthony half-smiled at her. "I'm only a man, after all," he admitted.

"You've imagined…us…together? But you're always so…" She couldn't hide the surprise at this revelation, though elementary in its nature—why wouldn't he have imagined the same scenes she had all this time? The thought never occurred to her.

"Yes, well, at the risk of…sounding ungentlemanly—I'll confess to you: Since the drive in 1914…the concert…all during the war, despite believing—erroneously and foolishly, of course—you'd broken my heart…the month of the engagement…every day since…" Anthony took a deep breath, remembering. "I've dreamt of you all these years, Edith…and a good percentage of those dreams, though hazy and prone to blurred visions more than anything distinct and detailed, involved us together…in this bed...and—"

"And?" She whispered, her arms circling his shoulders and neck again, her lips closer to his.

"And in all of them I can't believe you're with me…how lucky I am…and that I am blessed to be able to worship you—to make love to you—as your husband." He waited for a response from her, unable to read her expression in the dark. "I'm sorry. You probably think worse of me now—a silly old man—ridiculous imaginings…" He said, resigned. "I'm sorry for all of this..."

"Don't be sorry. And don't ever describe it as you being a silly old man—you're neither," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. Somehow, the darkness for these intimate moments made them possible—the quiet and closeness palpable. "I've imagined, too, as I said the other day…about being your wife. I've dreamt these things for eight years—just like you—recently, they're just...more intense, so real."

"We've both waited that long, hmm?" Anthony pulled her to him, embracing her so that her chin rested on his shoulder as they were both still sitting in the bed, Edith now in his lap on top of the sheet that was strewn between them. "Then a couple of weeks at most—to make everything right—seems…minimal, don't you agree?" She tried to pull away from him then, perhaps to convince him otherwise, but he interrupted her and held her close still. "Will you stay with me though? Will you sleep beside me, Edith, and let me hold you close…as I want to do for the rest of our lives? No false starts or temptation or…frustration, sweet one. It's just that I do need you and—" She turned, moving in front of him, interrupting him and took his face again in her hands, her brown eyes staring into his blue ones in the dark as she let her lips brush against his.

"I need you." Edith's simple whisper settled it.

Anthony moved to allow her to lay by him, both on their right sides, Edith giving him room to settle behind her and taking his right arm to wrap under her shoulders by the pillow. She felt cool for only a moment before he straightened the sheet for the two of them and then brought his arm around her, holding her to his chest, still bare against the silk of her gown. They naturally tangled together under the sheet, their legs mingling, feet gently rubbing as hers stretched for his before relaxing and settling against his shin and knee.

"Anthony?"

"Yes?"

"I want to be like this always…every night."

"_Every _night?" The thought of it still amazed him—that she would want to be with him.

"Yes, every night, especially…especially after we make love. Being held like this…I do feel safe and warm and…" Edith swallowed, hesitating at the emotion she felt. "Being with you means I'm _home_…"

Anthony clutched her tighter to him. "I love you, Edith. And, yes, we are home." He paused for a moment, though, considering her words. "You know, having you here…Locksley feels so complete to me—I don't think I've ever felt more content here. It's always been my favorite place, of course, but you've made everything come together, darling, all the possibilities in life have come together for me again…if that makes sense?"

Edith heard the questioning in his voice, the sound of disbelief and love. "Yes, I think I know exactly what you mean…"

"Yes, I thought you might."

Edith waited, and then a doubt formed in her mind. "So, is it at all like when you were married before—the possibilities…the happiness?"

"No, sweet one. Not at all." Anthony thought for a long moment remembering his past life with Maud and how that relationship and his feelings differed so much with what he felt now for the woman he held. "Edith, you've given me a new and wonderful life, very much unlike what I've ever known. This life," his breath close to her ear, "with you—it's already so much more than I ever dreamt possible…"

Anthony felt her body relax against him, the tension completely leaving her in the few moments that followed as she snuggled closer to him. The rhythm of her even breathing gave him comfort and confidence in them. "I love you," he whispered, and kissed her on the cheek just by her ear.

A quiet murmur was Edith's only response; he couldn't see the slight smile on her face as she slept in his arms in the dark. Anthony laid his head by hers on the pillow and drifted into a peaceful sleep, neither waking again until the sun rose in the morning.

* * *

A/N: As always and ever, thank you for continuing to read and review and, in general, for sticking with me. I do hope you are enjoying it...


	17. Chapter 17

A brief note on the previous chapter: When I researched this portion and read about WWI, I discovered-sadly-that atrocities (starvation, torture, etc) were reported by soldiers from all sides, which is why Anthony doesn't elaborate or lay blame and simply makes the comment about war making men into barbarians. Anthony, in my fictional realm, was not officially a POW and not given the same respect (if it can be called that) and treatment as such. Edith's conclusions are vague for multiple reasons-Anthony, being the man he is, would never voice the truth of what happened to him given his duties, and Edith, even with her knowledge of the possibilities, wouldn't fully know the details of what happened to him. She knows enough given the events depicted here. Anthony, as others have noted, clearly suffered from PTSD in the show-as evidenced from his nervous/anxious mannerisms, weight loss and gaunt appearance, and complete lack of confidence when he returned in the Christmas Special of 2011. (Mr. Bathurst played this to perfection and the performance is probably the reason why I am so passionate about 'fixing' this particular relationship and allowing Anthony to heal. The thesis I've mentioned completing recently was research and narrative writing on trauma, PTSD, and recovery-not 'fun' but incredibly interesting and insightful-and I hope this story is coming through as being informed and truthful regarding the topic _AND _in character and doing justice to our lovely couple.) Thank you again for continuing to read and review and for being willing to do so despite these darker but (I hope) realistic moments...

* * *

_Good morning my dearest darling,_

_I couldn't wake you. You looked too lovely wrapped up sleeping in my arms and I knew you needed to rest, so I tried not to disturb. Please forgive me for departing early and missing the moment when the sun kisses your eyes as it did the other morning. You're so beautiful (are you keeping count again for today?) and I am so lucky. I'll be working for a while this morning in my study and possibly meeting with a few people on the grounds. I promise to be careful and to do nothing strenuous. Enjoy your breakfast—you should know that Mrs. Brandon's learning all of your favorites. _

_We've been through so much—together and apart—these past eight years, but we've come so far just in this past week together. Do you see it, too? I love you for the wife you will be and for the husband you will help me to be and, most of all, I love you for the life we will, and have already begun, to create together here. We're so close, sweet one…_

_Yours—Anthony_

_P.S.—I need to go to London to take care of a couple of items of business. Would you like to accompany me? _

Edith read the note three times, her fingers lightly playing at the smile on her lips. When she sat up, she found Anthony's pajama shirt that was removed in the heated moments between them hours before. Edith placed the letter on the nightstand near her and put his shirt on, folding the length of the sleeves back to reveal her hands. She took the letter in hand again, lay back down, and turned the collar up on the shirt to encircle her completely.

"Mmm…my Anthony…" she said, pulling the pillow closer to her. Surrounded by his scent from the shirt and the pillow, Edith read it once more. "London? Why, yes, darling I would be very glad to accompany you," she whispered.

After a few minutes of lingering and tracing his handwriting—beautiful in its calligraphy-like style on the stationery, Edith ventured out of bed and over to the window. She swept the curtains back fully to view the estate grounds. _Lovely_, she thought. Then, she spotted Anthony, along with the gardener walking by some of the hedges. _Even lovelier_, she smiled to herself. Anthony, casually attired in a cuffed, button-down shirt and brown slacks, looked the epitome of handsome. The breeze blew his blonde hair astray as he talked with the gardener and they gestured towards the rows on the landscape. "I'm the lucky one, darling," she said, shaking her head as she continued to observe them. Edith went to her room to change quickly, fixing her hair, and powdering her nose before breakfast.

* * *

When she didn't find Anthony, Edith went to the kitchen. Mrs. Brandon asked what she would prefer for breakfast and, before Edith even finished, the older woman began preparations with what she had assembled just before Edith came in and she gestured to the basket of scones already baked and waiting on the table. She knew. Edith sighed.

"Am I that predictable?"

Mrs. Brandon only shook her head. "No, milady. I just guessed."

Edith took a seat in the kitchen, despite the surprised look she received. "Something tells me, Mrs. Brandon, that you don't guess that often—that you simply know people quite well."

As she cooked the eggs, Mrs. Brandon only smiled, too modest to acknowledge the accuracy of Edith's presumption.

"Thank you for being so kind to me," Edith said, wanting to chat.

"Not at all, milady. Sir Anthony is quite happy you're here," she said, over her shoulder to Edith. "And that's what I like to see."

Edith smiled. "You do care for him very much, don't you?"

Mrs. Brandon hesitated only a moment, glancing again at the young woman. "Yes, milady. I've been here for a long time. He's been very good to me—very good—even in his own darkest hours." She finished cooking in silence, and smiled as she gave Edith the plate. "Are you sure you don't want to eat in the dining room, milady?"

"I'm fine here, Mrs. Brandon. A casual setting is fine with me—more like my flat in London—and I enjoy your company," Edith said. "Will you sit with me and have some coffee? Sir Anthony's obviously busy and I would prefer it if you would—if you're not too busy?"

Mrs. Brandon, surprised by the invitation, nodded and took the seat opposite Edith. "Thank you, milady." She poured them both cups of coffee and added a bit of sugar to her own.

Edith took a bite. "As always, this is wonderful—thank you." Edith considered Mrs. Brandon's comment about Anthony and wanted to know more, uncertain as to how to approach the topic of Anthony. "I think you and Stewart have been wonderful for him. He certainly has had some…dark hours…as you say."

Mrs. Brandon, sensing where this conversation might go and somewhat torn in her loyalties, only offered another curt nod and a dutiful smile.

"Mrs. Brandon, you've known him a long time. I've seen some of those terrible moments—the ones that haunt him—while he's been recovering. Is there anything I should know—perhaps, to help him?" Edith asked, looking Mrs. Brandon in the eye, making sure she knew Edith was aware of how serious this talk would become.

"Milady," she began, "Sir Anthony is a quiet man—particularly about what he's feeling. I can only say that losing his wife and that sweet baby…he might as well have died that morning, too; I've never seen a man so lost, so hurt. I will never forget it," she said, her eyes moist. "Lady Strallan never saw the boy, died just before he arrived and Sir Anthony…those terrible hours afterwards…he held his son, never took his eyes off of him. It was like he was willing him to live—praying for his little breaths to keep coming. Dr. Clarkson himself had to take the baby from him. He'd passed and Sir Anthony couldn't let him go. We feared for him those first weeks, didn't want to leave him alone for too long." She lifted her apron and dabbed her eyes. "And then just before the war—" Mrs. Brandon saw Edith wince. "I'm sorry, milady, I didn't mean—"

"No, do go on, please," Edith assured her. "It was dreadful, but it's all right. Please continue."

"He was finally happy again—you should have seen him," Mrs. Brandon smiled at the memories. "That early summer of 1914 he would be working in his study, humming to himself those symphonies and operas he likes so much, or Stewart would find him in the library re-reading something for the hundredth time and he would mention you… Lady Edith said this…or Lady Edith and I talked about that. We were so pleased for him. It was such unexpected happiness after what happened…"

Edith thought back on the drives they took together, the picnic one faded afternoon. "Yes, it was a lovely time… Some…_miscommunications_ occurred though and ruined everything so quickly." The bitterness was evident to Mrs. Brandon then as Edith's eyes filled with angry tears at the lost time for them.

"I know," Mrs. Brandon shook her head. "I know—he came back from that party much too soon. I knew something had happened. He didn't speak to any of us. The phone rang that evening and within a week he left for London. Milady, he was devastated and, as men will do, he devoted every bit of energy to work—and the war."

Edith set her plate aside and sipped her coffee, imagining Anthony hurt…preparing to leave for war believing that she had mocked and ridiculed him in front of her family, worse that she didn't love him. She wiped away a tear.

"And when he returned?" Edith managed to ask.

Mrs. Brandon wept.

The tears caused Edith to reach and cover Mrs. Brandon's hand with her own.

Finally, Mrs. Brandon, calmed and took a sip of coffee. "He was so thin, starved-looking. Milady, he was a ghost getting out of that car and I had to hide my own tears—well, I tried. Stewart had to tell me to return inside; I couldn't take it. I just couldn't stand seeing him like that. And his arm…" She shut her eyes then, taking a deep breath.

"I imagine everything was a struggle for him?"

"Stewart tried to reassure him, to help him. He was so impatient…so hard on himself. Such harsh words like I'd not heard from him before."

"For his arm, you mean?"

"Yes—and for himself. And that was if he spoke at all. He was…inside himself…just so quiet. A few of his friends sent invitations, but he always said no. He didn't leave Locksley. He would walk—sometimes for hours—outside on the grounds, especially after receiving bad news in a post…just disappear…until Stewart went out to find him and bring him back. It didn't matter if it was freezing or raining or…he'd just walk. One of the worst times, Stewart had to practically carry him because he was so cold and wet to the skin, shivering—said it had taken over an hour just to find him and he'd already been out there by himself most of the afternoon. Dreadful…of course, he apologized to us each time for the upset and the worry, but he couldn't seem to…" Mrs. Brandon tried to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "And then you came again—briefly."

Edith stared at the table and took another sip of coffee. Suddenly, she looked at Mrs. Brandon, "I'm not leaving, Mrs. Brandon—and I'm not letting him go either. I want you to know that because I know you care so deeply for him, too. I need you to know that I want him—" Her voice became strained, an insistent whisper, "I want him to be happier than he's ever been. Joy—that's all I want for him: joy to fill him for the rest of his life…our lives together."

"I know you are the one who can give him that, milady," Mrs. Brandon clasped Edith's hands again, squeezing them, and smiling through tears. She turned her head at the sound of a door shutting upstairs. "Oh—that sounds like him returning. You go ahead. I should clear this away and begin luncheon preparation. Stewart'll be on to me about it if I'm caught sitting here." She gave Edith a good-natured grin, knowing Edith didn't believe a word of Stewart getting on to her about anything, and stood and began tidying the kitchen. Edith slipped away to find Anthony.

* * *

Anthony was in his study concentrating on something that he conveniently hid from view when she arrived.

"Good morning."

"Good morning," he said, standing and kissing her lightly as he wrapped his arm around her. "You missed Tom and Lady Sybil—they were here only for a few minutes. Tom was taking her into the village to spoil her, but wanted to see how we were faring."

Edith frowned at having missed her niece.

Anthony looked apologetic, "Darling, I'm sorry. Tom and I thought it best she didn't see you; we were afraid she might mention you at Downton."

"I understand—I'm sorry to have missed her though. She's such a sweet child." Edith became sad. "Like her mother."

Anthony pulled her closer then, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. Softly, he added, "She's beautiful—she chased a butterfly halfway across the orchard, laughing at it and smiling because it just barely touched her finger before flying off again." He paused, and Edith looked up at him for a moment and saw the dreamy sort of smile. Noticing her watching, he said, "Um, sorry, Tom said he'd be glad to join us for dinner this evening—will that be all right?"

"Yes, of course. I'd like that."

"And," Anthony smiled down at her, "did you receive my invitation?"

Edith smiled, "To London? That was a rather mysterious invitation…" Her hands began to smooth his shirt, coyly trailing along the button path. "Why, yes, I would be glad to accompany you, Sir Anthony. What sort of business are we attending to?"

It was Anthony's turn to smile and he evaded her, momentarily, "Just ordinary business."

Edith kissed him, a bare touch of the lips. She drew him closer against her by his shirt collar and whispered, "I don't believe you." She laughed and he did, too.

"I can't tell you more. You won't get it out of me," he countered, kissing her…only his kiss slowed them both, leaving the matter forgotten as Edith felt his hand press her closer to him just long enough to deepen the kiss and leave her catching her breath—her eyes still closed and lips parted as he pulled away and smiled at her.

"I've…completely," she opened her eyes, "forgotten what we were discussing…Anthony Strallan, sometimes you're wicked in your diversion techniques."

He spun her then, guiding her out of his study. "I wouldn't say 'wicked,' but I do have experience in those sorts of tactics given my past life's work," he teased.

Edith stopped him. "What do you mean 'past life'?"

"The war—any of my life prior to these past days with you. That's all." Anthony smiled at her. "I need to rest for a while before luncheon, darling. I'm afraid I've probably been a bit too eager to get work done this morning."

"I shall let you rest then. I think I'll read before and then join you to eat later."

"Perfect." As they stopped at the stairs, Anthony brushed her lips with his once more. "Probably better you stay down here anyway…a safe distance, so to speak." His hand touched her cheek, the back of it so gentle she rested her head against it and closed her eyes again. "I love you."

She opened her eyes, and her expression was one Anthony knew he wouldn't tire of seeing. "I love you," she said. They both took the tiniest of steps in opposing directions as if agreed upon beforehand to surrender, but their hands held onto one another until the last possible moment before going their separate ways…

* * *

Tom enjoyed dinner at Locksley—the atmosphere of calm and the casual nature of the first dinner Anthony and Edith actually shared at the dining table instead of in his room were in stark contrast to the formal affairs every evening at Downton. The conversation came easily and the three talked well after the dinner was finished. Edith eventually left the men to chat, kissing Anthony good night, and retreating upstairs.

The two men took brandy in the library and talked of business and Downton's season thus far, as well as the family. Tom, too, recognized Cora's ability to discern certain knowledge and enjoyed the fact that she seemed to be influencing Robert in a positive direction, if ever so subtly.

"I want to show you something," Anthony said, standing and setting his glass down on the table. He led Tom into his study and took out the piece of paper Edith saw him cover earlier in the day. "What do you think?"

"Beautiful—can they really craft something like that?" Tom asked as he held the paper, studying the design.

Anthony nodded. "It's already done; I called in a favor from a friend there at Asprey's. We're leaving to go and pick it up in London. Of course, Edith doesn't know that part of the business yet." The schoolboy delight that Anthony exhibited in that moment made Tom grin as well.

"You've got it planned then—the proposal?"

"Almost completely, yes."

"Are you going to propose before the dinner at Downton next week?"

Anthony paused, "Yes. I want Edith to know I'm devoted to her before we go—I know she's still…a bit anxious."

Tom smiled. "Understandable, don't you think?"

"Yes, of course," Anthony confessed, "But Tom—it's not happening like that again. I can't—"

Tom put his hand on Anthony's shoulder. "Anthony, I know better. Edith does, too. I was only—"

"Of course, yes, I know. I just—" Anthony looked away and then back at Tom, taking the paper and staring at the picture of the ring he customized, knowing what the combination of metals and precious stones meant. "I just want her to know—to have complete confidence—when we go in there to face her family that…that they can't win this time."

Tom nodded, squeezing Anthony's shoulder, and motioning for them to return to their chairs in the library. As they sat together, the brandy warming them, Anthony couldn't help but comment again on Sybil.

"All I know is that if it's possible and we have a little girl that looks as beautiful as her mother…Tom, I'm done for!" Anthony smiled, wistful, and then he laughed.

Tom laughed louder. "You don't have to tell me! Sybil's impossible to say 'no' to!" Tom sipped his brandy and glanced at his friend. "Have you told Edith?"

"Hmm?"

"About wanting a family."

Anthony looked at Tom, and then paused. "No, we haven't really; it's been mentioned in passing. I'm a bit…reticent to talk about it is all."

Tom nodded and took another drink, the lightness of the conversation dissolving with memories of Sybil.

"You and I have something in common, Tom." Anthony's eyes became shadowy in the darkness of the room and the waning fire.

Tom didn't have to guess at what he meant, and he sat across from him, silent.

"Maud suffered several miscarriages before finally giving birth…and then I lost them both within hours. She was…fragile, as you can imagine. Well, she was strong, too, but not like that…she just…" He didn't finish. He didn't have to—both men had tears in their eyes and nothing needed to be said.

Anthony stared into the fire. "Edith's very different; our life together will be, too. I don't care about an heir, Tom, not the way most men with property do." He looked then at Tom, his blue eyes unwavering. "I couldn't care less about having a male heir or _bequeathing_ anything. I love Locksley, I do, but…" Tom was surprised by the caustic tone as much as by Anthony's words. Just as quickly though, he looked again at the fire and his voice deepened, tender and barely there, "More than anything, I just…I simply want a family…to be a father…to love and teach them…show them how much I love their mother."

Tom set his glass aside. "You will. The two of you will." He stood, signaling the end of their evening, and Anthony did, too. "It's late. I should return and check on Sybil."

Anthony led him out and they shook hands. Tom thought for a moment, "So, the London plan—do you need any help with it?"

"Actually, yes, if you don't mind you could drive Edith to the station…and pick her up—you know, just for appearances so she's not seen in my car."

"Done," Tom nodded.

"Thank you, Tom. We couldn't have managed any of this without you."

Tom only smiled. "Good night, Anthony."

"Good night." Anthony watched as Tom drove away and then went upstairs to his room to find Edith asleep. Anthony managed to change on his own, somewhat more difficult without Stewart's help, and he didn't bother with a shirt. As carefully as he could, he eased into bed beside her, laying on his right side, and embracing her with his left arm. Anthony felt her breathe. Leaning in closer, he kissed her neck lightly and he could smell the hint of lilac from her perfume. He took her hand in his, holding it at her breast, and pulled her closer to him still. The conversation with Tom came back to him then… _The easiest part, _he thought watching her sleep by him, _will be showing them how much I love you_…


	18. Chapter 18

Edith opened her eyes and felt Anthony's lips on her shoulder. "Good morning," she said, rolling over to face him.

"Good morning, sweet one," he said, lightly brushing a curl from falling in her eye. "It's too early—still nighttime—you should sleep. I'm sorry—I didn't mean to wake you," he whispered.

"Quite all right—I like being able to talk like this…intimately, like we're the only two people in the world," Edith confided, moving to lie on her side as he shifted to his back.

"I rather feel that way any time we're together, but yes—particularly here in the solitude of our room, veiled by the lingering night," Anthony said, his eyes intensely blue even in the darkness of the early hours. He leant forward and kissed her, a gentle and reverent kiss.

"Mmm," she said, tilting her head closer, "thank you for that."

"Just a sweet good night kiss—you shall have one every night. I think it's only fair, if you agree?"

"Oh yes, I most certainly agree." Edith absently ran her fingers along his collar bone, the side of his neck, and then let them drift over his bare chest. "Did you have a good chat with Tom?"

Anthony stared at the ceiling, unable to focus with her touch distracting him. "Uh…oh yes, yes we did have a nice talk…the farms and family…"

"What about family?" Edith asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Oh, um…well, not what you think," Anthony said, sensing her concern. "We talked about…children—Sybil and…"

Edith's hand stopped, and she touched his cheek. "And?"

Anthony tried to brush it off, but Edith held his gaze.

"Anthony? What about family—and children?" She smiled down at him and he could see it, the look in her eyes.

"I adore your niece…and…"

"Tell me, darling. Whatever it is you're thinking, please tell me," she insisted.

Anthony took a breath, looked at her, a mixture of longing and absolute love overwhelming him. "I cannot imagine a happier life than the one we're building together and I can't envision that life without seeing you as the mother of my child…or children… I know you mentioned it before in passing, but we haven't really talked about it and I just—I love you, Edith, and I want to give you everything—a home, children, your career, whatever is in my power and means to provide you or support you in accomplishing anything you desire…" He was met with silence, which caused him to panic. "Edith? What is it, darling? What's wrong? Did I say something wrong?" He sat up then, reaching to hold her, assessing all he said for mistake or error. "I know you're still hurt over the loss of Sybil, darling, I'm sorry—I didn't mean—"

"It's not that—" Edith said, letting him pull her closer, shifting her to sit on his lap and hold her. She sniffled and he fumbled for a handkerchief on his nightstand.

"What is it, my love?" Anthony said, alarmed at her tears.

Edith took a moment and composed herself and then held his face in her hands, shaking her head. "Anthony Strallan, you struggle for words sometimes and then you have these moments…these times when you leave me completely speechless and in love with you and…gah! I'm ready to start our life together because it's here and now and beautiful…just—you're beautiful to me and—" she paused, catching her breath and kissed him. "I love you so much," she said.

"Oh my God—please don't ever frighten me like that again," he said, nervously laughing and holding her closer. "My sweet, you scared me to death just now—I thought I'd lost you or said something dreadfully wrong."

Edith laughed then, too. "No, no—you said everything so terribly right," she said, kissing him again.

Anthony held her then, close, her head resting at his shoulder. "So, to be certain, you do see us having a family?" he asked, tenderly.

He felt Edith nodding against him and his eyes stung a bit as he smiled. She moved to sit up and embrace him, her arms circling his neck as they held each other close in the dark. "And," Edith whispered, thinking back to her conversation with Mrs. Brandon, needing to reassure him, "I know when we do—when I'm pregnant with our child—everything will be fine. I know you'll be worried and I know nothing's even happened yet…between us…but I just know we will be fine."

Anthony closed his eyes then, a tear falling to Edith's shoulder as he held her tighter. "I don't want to lose you—you mean too much to me and I can't bear the thought—"

"I know," she said. "I know—and you won't." She pulled away from him and kissed him again. "We've far too much to accomplish in this world together for anything to keep us from it, love. I'm not leaving you and I can't wait to see you be a father to our children… That is, plural—children—if I have anything to say about it."

Anthony's hand stroked her cheek, his index finger tracing the line of her face, her smile. "I told Tom tonight that I look forward to being a father, to teaching and loving our children, but the one thing—the one thing I know I will do well…better than anyone ever has, Edith, is love you. I will do whatever it takes, my darling, to love you—passionately, madly, devotedly, as you deserve—for the rest of my life."

Edith laughed and choked at the same time, reaching once more for the handkerchief. "There you go and do it again, Anthony—saying such wonderful things that I can't stand it—"

"So sorry, darling—I'm so sorry," he said, laughing, wrapping his arm around her again to console her. "I didn't mean to upset you—"

"I'm not upset," Edith whimpered, twisting and putting the handkerchief aside before kissing him once more. "I'm not upset, really," she assured him.

Anthony coaxed her into lying down again. "Enough—enough. Now, let's rest and discuss less weighty topics of conversation before we fall asleep again." He thought for a moment, looking at her as they lay on their sides together. "Are you ready to see if we can tolerate each other in the confines of a train car?"

She laughed. "I don't know what you mean by 'tolerate', but I admit: I will have to be on my best behavior," she teased, the lightness returning to her features.

"Me as well," he agreed, smiling at her. "Trains can be romantic, I suppose—"

"Like the back seat of your Rolls?" She asked, caressing the line of his lips.

He kissed her fingertips. "Perhaps when we return and everything is in the open, so to speak, we can resume our drives together—I have missed them."

"Me, too. And, after we're married, perhaps we can explore even more…possibilities back there. Parking a car never sounded like so much fun," Edith said, both of them erupting in laughter. As their grins faded, they looked at each other, knowing that an even deeper level of understanding was found between them. Edith reached for him then, sliding on top of him as the darkest hour stood still outside. She brushed her lips against his, gently persuading him, and seeking more.

"Edith—"

"I know," she said, breaking the kiss, her lips still close to his. "I just felt the need to be closer to you after talking. It's just…rather nice to at least pretend we can engage in such activities…and, despite your maddening self-control, I love knowing…feeling how you…react to me."

Anthony touched her now-flushed and warmed cheek and smiled, a bit wickedly, "You have an unfair advantage, sweet one. When it's time…well—"

"What?" Her eyes were wide, waiting anxiously.

"Nothing, just that I believe that you react to me as well," he said, as evenly as he could manage, biting his bottom lip in the darkness. "I'm looking forward to…seeing it for myself on our wedding night—your reactions, that is," he confessed. "And I promise no mercy."

"What do you mean—" She began. Anthony shocked her, pushing her off of him and rolling her to her side as she let out a shocked squeal. "Anth—!"

Just as swiftly, Anthony wrapped her in his embrace, pulling her back close to his chest once more. "My God, Edith…" He rasped in her ear.

"Anthony! Wh—"

"You and your distracting nature with your feminine wiles making me fantasize about our wedding night," he growled, teasing her and taking such pleasure in holding her close and hearing her gasp of surprise and delight. "Shhhh…we're resting," he insisted, smiling in her hair and kissing her neck. "I love you—go to sleep."

"I think that's impossible now!" She said, giggling. She felt Anthony's body trembling, too, trying to contain his own laughter. After a minute of silence though, Edith calmed and heard Anthony sigh. "I love you," she whispered. "Good night—or good morning…or happy trip to London today…"

"It will be," he promised…

* * *

Tom took Edith's bag from the back of the car. "Just remember to behave yourself," he said, winking at her.

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that—remember who I'm accompanying," Edith said, laughing. She sighed. "Of course, he is rather perfect…"

Tom smiled at her and shook his head as he passed her bag to the train attendant who waited for her. She gave Tom a hug. "Thank you, again, Tom. It's so good of you to help us the way you have."

He only patted her arm and smiled. "You're quite welcome." When he pulled away, he glanced back towards the road. "Ah, I see your gentleman has arrived as planned," he grinned. "You look beautiful. Enjoy the trip."

Edith took a deep breath, smoothing the dark blue skirt and cream blouse she wore, and watched as Stewart parked the open Rolls Royce. She stood there by the train for a moment longer and turned back to Tom. "Yes, thank you. We plan to. I should go now though. I'm meeting him in our car. Hug Sybie for me?"

"Of course," he assured her.

Edith stepped onto the train, waving once more at Tom, and then disappeared following the train attendant with her bag to her car.

Stewart held the door for Anthony, who emerged from his car in time to exchange conspiratorial glances and nods with Tom—no smiles, though, so as not to give anything away between them.

"I'll be along in a moment, Sir," Stewart said, taking his and Anthony's bags from the car. "You go ahead."

Anthony smiled at Stewart's encouragement. "I can wait for you," he said, straightening his tie beneath his charcoal jacket.

Stewart shook his head, his grin widening. "No need, Sir. I'll be right behind you—" He lowered his voice and leaned closer to Anthony, "But I know the woman in front of you up there is quite a bit more important at the moment and you shan't keep her waiting on my account."

Anthony laughed, then, a sound Stewart was glad to hear. "Thank you, Stewart. I'll see you aboard then."

"Very good, Sir."

Anthony walked, more quickly than he probably should have given the circumstances and the chance he and Edith were taking in meeting the train in the village. Once aboard, he opened the door to the compartment.

"Oh, Lady Edith," he said, in mock surprise at 'finding' her.

"Sir Anthony," she replied with the same tone, as he shut the door behind him.

They sat on opposite sides, enduring failed attempts at not grinning at one another unabashedly, until the train departed and they felt a bit safer. Edith quickly moved to sit by him.

"I love your suit," she said, feeling the dark tweed coat.

"I love you," he said.

Looking past him out the window, Edith said, "You promised a wonderful trip and I know it will be." She kissed him on the cheek, resting her head on his shoulder while she watched the countryside roll by. She held on a bit tighter, her hand pulling at his lapel before settling on his chest.

He took her hand and kissed it, before holding it against him. "It will be, sweet one. It will be..."

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! This was a sweet little (break!) chapter after the angst I've been writing recently in "Portrait"... I hope you enjoyed it and please do let me know what you think if you have a moment...


	19. Chapter 19

"I have to make a stop before we—commence—with the rest of our trip."

"Of course," Anthony replied, taking her hand in his as they walked along to the taxi car Stewart claimed for them. Edith stepped in and Anthony hesitated. "Just meet us at the town house, Stewart. We'll be there in time for dinner."

"Very good, Sir."

"_The Sketch_ offices, please, downtown," Edith had barely said the words when she looked at Anthony. "I need to make some things clear to Michael—it won't take long." She gripped Anthony's hand in hers, then, and smiled. "I promise."

Anthony leaned and kissed her on the cheek. The taxi car drove through the streets and the two were quiet, taking in the sight of the city with pedestrians and cars roaming about in every direction. When the vehicle stopped, Anthony squeezed her hand.

"Shall I go in with you? I really don't want you alone—"

Edith shook her head. "No, it'll be fine. I think I need to do this on my own and it will be easier. Would you like to wait here or inside?"

"I may just walk a bit out here, stretch my legs, that sort of thing."

Edith kissed him then, her lips firm on his and her hand on his cheek. "Be back shortly." With that, she was out of the car and walking with purpose through the doors as Anthony held his breath.

* * *

The loud chatter and smoke, the ringing of the telephones, and the clatter of typewriters in the room battered Edith's senses immediately. After the serenity of Locksley, Edith found herself bristling at the grating sounds now surrounding her. She quickly walked back to Michael's secretary, who offered her a tight-lipped smile.

"Lady Edith."

"Yes, Mrs. Waite, I wondered if I could speak with Mr. Gregson, please," Edith asked.

"One moment," the young woman said, touching her pinned brunette hair. She rose and opened Michael's door. Edith could hear him on the telephone, but he ended the conversation abruptly.

"Of course, send her in," he said. Michael ushered Mrs. Waite out and came to his door, greeting Edith, his smile warm. "I've been worried for you since I received the second post—you were at a family friend's? I had called Downton and—well, my goodness, what happened to keep you away so long?"

Edith shut his door behind them and Michael gestured for her to take the seat in front of his desk; he crouched on the corner of his desk in front of her, leaning close. When he saw her face, though, he distanced himself and waited. Over the next minutes, Edith recounted most of what happened while she'd been in Yorkshire, leaving out some of the details that Michael would find painful. Michael nodded, shaken upon the initial mention of Anthony Strallan—and then defeated by the end of Edith's explanation.

"Thank you, Michael—for understanding," Edith gave him her hand, which he took in his and held.

"Of course, Edith. I could never give you what you needed or wanted…or deserved; you deserve so much. I apologize for—"

Edith took her hand from his and looked at him. "There's no need for apologies. You were good to me and you helped me very much with my writing career—getting started. I thank you for that."

Michael stared at her. "But you're not giving it up, are you?"

"No, of course not. I just didn't know if you'd still want me to write if I'm living in Yorkshire."

"I see. So you won't be staying in London after all?" Michael lifted his chin, taking the final blow.

Edith smiled, "No, save for the occasional visit, perhaps. I'm much more at home at Locksley. Anthony and I are marrying quite soon."

"Are you sure he'll go through with it?" Michael regretted the words immediately when he saw Edith's eyes narrow on him in anger as she quickly stood to leave. "I'm sorry—I'm so sorry," he said, stopping her. "It's just that I—never mind. You're happy and that's what matters. You needn't say more, Edith. I understand." Michael knew enough of their story to understand. Edith, in a state of grief when she arrived in London, had kept Michael at a distance for the most part and their relationship was companionable but he'd heard her talk of Anthony before. While working on an article about the war and the treatment of those who were injured, Edith had cried—not a few tears but convulsive, mournful sobs that left Michael unable to console her. In fact, on several occasions he noticed how the conversation—political or literary or about nothing at all—seemed to segue back to Anthony. Remembering those talks now, Michael recalled the change in her tone when she said his name—the tenderness mingled with pain, but the underscore of love that neither could deny was present. Michael accepted the defeat and the knowledge that whatever Edith felt for him all this time could never equate to this man from her past. He pondered for a moment, studying her now in his office and looking more beautiful than he'd ever seen her. "I'd be willing to negotiate more articles with you or see that you were able to gain a contract of some kind elsewhere—you're sought after now, you know." He smiled, proud of her and the work they accomplished.

But Edith heard the twinge in his voice and saw the pain in his expression. "Thank you. I'll speak to Anthony and write you later about it after I've had a chance to consider it." Edith offered a sympathetic smile. "I do wish things were different for you, Michael. I hope one day they will be. Take care." Edith turned and opened the door to his office to leave. She smiled at him once more over her shoulder and he simply nodded and waved as he sat back down in his chair and watched her walk away.

When he heard the door open, Anthony turned on the sidewalk and hurried to her. "Everything all right?" Anthony asked.

Edith hugged him close in the slanting, bright light of the evening, her arm linking with his left, and she fought the echoes in her mind of Michael's insidious notion, "_Are you sure he'll go through with it?".._. She stood by the door of the taxi and looked up into Anthony's sun-soaked blue eyes, his hat in his hand readying to get into the car beside her. "I love you," was all she said, her hand on the open door, before she kissed him. Anthony held back for a moment, hearing an obnoxious whistle and call in the distance, blushing at the public display—but then he submitted and returned the kiss as fully and openly as she offered it. When Edith leaned away from him, her eyes searched his face as though inspecting for some invisible, fatal flaw that she hadn't seen before but knew was there. Anthony sensed the scrutiny and suspicion—the measurement she was making based on whatever Michael had said, whatever doubts he'd tried to plant—and he stood still, his eyes never leaving hers. Edith tilted her head and her eyes drifted down and then back to him as she drew in several pensive breaths, knowing the unspoken doubts that began to cloud her eyes as she looked at him. _Did he see them? Could he know that voicing them was something she couldn't do—not after their time together at Locksley. Please don't make me ask you if you're certain… _

Anthony waited and recognized her need, what she was feeling—not to eagerly seek him out and for him to receive her, but for him to come to her, to answer her inquiring kiss and somehow confirm their completeness. Without another word, he leaned beside her, tossed his hat into the waiting taxi just behind her and claimed her lips with his own with no hesitation—an unapologetic, possessive kiss that she'd not experienced until now, yet he was still Anthony—tender, sweet, and his touch so healing and affirming that her faith was no longer shaken. Edith held onto him, her arms around his shoulders and neck, her body warming despite the cooling evening temperatures until more than a minute later when he felt her tears and he broke the kiss. She kept holding him, though, as fiercely as he did her, such that she almost couldn't breathe against him.

"Better?"

Still recovering from the shock and trying to catch her breath, Edith could only nod into his shoulder. "Mmm-hmmm."

Anthony eased away from her, ducking down to peer directly into her eyes. He smiled, pleased with the fact that she was stunned, her mouth still slightly open. "Good. Home, then?" Anthony took her elbow, feeling her trembling beside him, turned her towards the car, and guided her inside as he folded himself in behind her. Once he'd given the driver the address for his town house, he reached to hold her hand and neither let go until they reached their London home.

* * *

The two went to their separate rooms to freshen up for dinner and once back together for their meal, Anthony introduced Edith to the young woman who served as maid and cook part-time whenever Anthony visited his London home.

"This is Clara, Mrs. Brandon's daughter," Anthony said.

The young woman, probably about 20 in Edith's estimation, curtsied, and greeted Edith politely.

"She's only here when I make it to London—and soon I'll have to find someone else to help," Anthony smiled at Clara, who blushed.

Edith saw the reaction and was curious. "What do you mean?"

Anthony nodded to Clara, "Go on."

"I'm at University right now, which is why I'm here in London," Clara explained.

"Oh, how wonderful!" Edith said.

Clara smiled. "Yes, Sir Anthony's been very generous to us."

Edith cocked her head and turned a questioning gaze on Anthony, who only smiled briefly before looking away from her.

"And what are you studying?" Edith asked.

"Literature and Rhetoric…and Mathematics a bit, too, milady—I want to be a teacher," Clara said, fidgeting now with her apron.

"I think that's splendid! Clara, I wish you the very best—times have indeed started changing for us." She grinned then back at Anthony, who was smiling with pride at Clara, and she said, "Thank goodness some men recognize our potential and are supportive, don't you agree?"

Clara beamed. "Yes, indeed, milady," she said. She paused for a moment and then moved closer to Anthony, placing a hand on his shoulder—all formality between the two gone. "May I bring you two anything else, Sir?"

"Just a bit of coffee, please," Anthony said.

Edith waited until Clara left for the kitchen again and then she stared him down. "There's so much I have yet to know about you," she said.

"Whatever do you mean?" He mocked.

"It seems your generosity knows no bounds—and that young woman looks at you like you were her father, not just a benefactor."

"She deserves it. She lost her father when she was quite young—before I left for the war. It gives me great pleasure to use my…resources…for good in the world," Anthony said. "If I am able to help, then why shouldn't I? Isn't that why we're here? To leave the world a bit better than before we arrived?"

"The more I know about you…my God. Anthony, I'm so very proud and terribly in love with you, you know," Edith said.

When Clara returned with the coffee, she recognized the pronounced silence between them and looked from one to the other. She saw Edith's brilliant smile aimed at Anthony and the mirror of it staring right back at Edith from his place across the table.

"Thank you, Clara," Anthony said, without looking away from Edith. "I think we'll take this to the library and that'll be all for this evening."

"Of course, Sir," Clara said. "Thank you. I'll be here for a short while to clean up then and let Stewart know when I've retired for the evening. I'll see you first thing in the morning for breakfast."

"Very good. Oh—and Clara—Lady Edith will require your assistance over the next few days while we're here, if that's all right?"

Clara grinned and looked at Edith. "Of course, Sir. I've been made aware this is quite the special visit to the city and will be more than delighted to assist—if that's all right with Lady Edith?"

Edith suddenly felt she was playing a part in something she wasn't familiar with and only smiled at the two of them. "Why, yes," she said, her eyes on Anthony. "I have a feeling everyone knows what's going on here except for me—but that's quite all right. Perhaps, Sir Anthony will be more forthcoming about our itinerary after some coffee-or brandy-in the library."

Anthony laughed, as did Clara and Edith.

"Good night, Sir," Clara said, departing to the kitchen.

"Shall we?" Anthony stood, and Edith followed him with their cups and saucers.

As he turned on the light, Edith took in the sight of the library—Stewart had already prepared and started the fire in the hearth, knowing his master well enough to know that the library would be his after-dinner refuge. The shelves were from floor to ceiling on two entire walls of the room and half of the third wall near the windows on the street side of the home. Soft lighting revealed a room awash in shades of blue and dark mahogany furniture. Edith smiled. Of course, like the rooms at Locksley, this town house was all Anthony—perfectly ordered, masculine, and warm, and with enough reading material to keep any voracious page-turner busy for a century or more.

"Oh my," Edith whispered. She set the saucers down on the table near the hearth and then took her cup, walking along the shelves, admiring.

"Think you might like it here?" Anthony chuckled. He watched her for a moment, taking her time, sipping her coffee, and perusing the titles. Within moments, Edith had set her coffee on the mantle and was reaching for a novel. Anthony watched her, taking pleasure in seeing her so delighted. After drinking a bit of his own coffee, he put the cup on the saucer at the nearest end table and walked to her across the room, coming up behind her to kiss the back of her neck and whispering, "It's yours, too, of course, sweet one."

Edith leaned into him, holding the novel she'd just taken off the shelf, and she closed her eyes. "I love you."

"I love you, Edith." Noticing the title of the novel, Anthony laughed. "How is it that you seem to pick my favorites first?"

Edith smiled, a lovely lilt in her voice as she replied, "We're one and the same, my love, and that is all."

Anthony held her a bit tighter, placing another kiss along her collar bone.

"Are you going to fill me in on what we're doing here in London any time soon?" She asked, turning towards him.

Anthony took her hand and led her to the couch just a few feet from the fire. They settled together after Edith placed the novel on the end table, with Anthony wrapping his left arm around her as she leaned into him, her fingers intertwining with his. "The day after tomorrow you'll need to wear your most formal gown and be ready to leave by 1pm for we cannot be late."

Edith waited for more information, but was met with silence. "You're going to be coy, aren't you?"

"We can go by your flat if we need to—or, and I would prefer this—you may go shopping and you shall pick out whatever you wish…" Anthony brought her fingertips to his lips, kissing them one at a time as he held her hand.

"And where will you be while I shop at my leisure?"

Anthony frowned. "I have a couple of errands to see to while I'm here." He paused. "And the day after that formal dress event…you'll need to pick out a favorite one to wear…I'll be in white tie, I think, and will have you on my arm again—out and about, so to speak."

Edith laughed, and then leaned over to kiss his neck. "You're actually quite good at building the expectations here. Might I be able to convince you to give a bit more away?" She trailed kisses up behind his ear and heard him gulp, his breath still.

"Would you care to read for a while before we go up to bed?" Anthony asked, changing the subject and remaining outwardly calm even as Edith teased him with her tongue, tasting and nipping at the nape of his neck.

"Ugh! Anthony Strallan, your manner and discipline is infuriating sometimes!" Edith's body slumped then against his and she sighed, audibly, admitting defeat. "Oh, all right." She retrieved her book from the table and huffed as she took her place at the furthest end of the sofa, curling her feet to her and refraining from touching Anthony at all.

Anthony couldn't help but laugh at her unwilling submission to his suggestion of reading and her subsequent punishment of him by withdrawing from his reach completely. He stood and went to the shelves to find a book for himself and sat down again on his side of the sofa. Minutes passed as they each turned pages, concentrating on their respective literary selections…until Edith succumbed, unconsciously needing to be near him and Anthony invited her…his book open on his lap and his hand reaching for her bare feet now stretching and resting beside his hip… Absently, they both read, enjoying the closeness as her legs relaxed further and her body drifted to lay down along the length of the sofa, nudging his book closed and drifting into his lap. Anthony set his book on the side table and then, smiling as Edith continued to read, he began massaging her feet and then her ankles, feeling along her calf muscles and, looking up then, he saw his touch made Edith's eyes close.

"Ready for bed?" he whispered, his hand moving upwards and stroking her thigh.

"Mmm-mmm…" Edith's murmur conveyed arousal rather than sleepiness and she could tell, her toes still resting in his lap, that Anthony was as affected by the recent minutes spent exploring her beautiful extremities as she.

Anthony gently prompted her to lift her legs and he stood first, coaxing her up and letting her lean into him as she stood beside him. Her balance faltered a bit and she needed to hold onto him.

"You've left me weak with your touch," she said.

"I wish I could work both of my hands over you, darling," his low whisper at once confirming both his desire for her and his hatred and frustration for his infirmity.

Edith knew better than to offer hollow words as they walked out of the library and to the staircase. Then, Edith simply stopped them and took the first two stairs in front of him to stand at eye-level with him. She took his face in her hands and kissed him, fervent and heated. When she finally pulled away, she saw her form of reassurance had worked and whispered, "See you in a few minutes."

Edith went to her room to change, slipping into her nightgown, and then met Anthony in his room. They nestled in bed, then, facing one another, kissing in between Edith's guesses and Anthony's evasions at what was to come in the following days…until sleep fell upon them...


	20. Chapter 20

Stewart held the door of the taxi car for Edith.

"He's at your beck and call today, darling, so whatever it is you need only to let him know," Anthony said, his hand on her cheek.

"Thank you—I think we're going to enjoy our day together. I shall meet you back here for luncheon or will you be out still?"

"Oh, I think it may take you longer, sweet one. Take your time."

Edith shrugged. "All right. A very formal gown and perhaps more? I can fulfill that request." She smiled and Anthony kissed her lips before taking her hand and helping her into the car.

"Anything she wants, Stewart," Anthony said.

"Of course, Sir." Stewart nodded. Anthony watched the taxi car drive off towards the London shops and he hailed the next one for himself.

"Asprey, please, New Bond Street."

"Right away, Sir," the driver complied.

* * *

When Anthony arrived at the West London jewelry store, he stepped in and stopped to look around, not even attempting to suppress the smile on his lips. This particular errand represented a new beginning—a material proof of their fresh start and promise.

"Major Strallan!" A man in his mid-30's approached Anthony from behind the farthest case and waved. "How are you, Sir?"

Anthony returned his cheerful greeting and the younger man offered his left hand. "How are you, Lieutenant?"

"Very well, Sir—and so glad to have received your call last week." The lieutenant gestured for Anthony to follow him and the two retreated to a smaller room off of the main merchandise floor.

"It appears, James, that you're doing quite well for yourself," Anthony said, noting the neatly-kept office. Anthony took the seat he was offered and James sat behind the desk, retrieving a mahogany box from a drawer.

"Yes, Sir. I've been able to apprentice with the best here and…seem to have found my talent," James said, smiling, shifting the box over to Anthony's side of the desk and handing him a magnifying glass. "Is this what you wanted?"

Anthony opened the delicate box and picked up the glass.

James quickly reached and pulled the ring from the box for Anthony to see up close under the glass. "There—you see? The two gold bands—the white and the rose that you requested—come together here with the new soldering process—" James pointed with a pen he took from the desktop. "And then all along the top portion lie the sapphires and finally, here, the platinum binds the two bands and holds the diamond—a strong, but delicate finish, so to speak. Finest stones I could find around here to meet your request, and that rose gold is exquisite—crown gold we call it at 22 karats—and quite modern, Sir; your lady's ring may very well start a trend. Lastly, the sapphires, well, they're practically unbreakable—and beautiful on top of that."

Anthony whispered, "So is she…" continuing to examine the ring. He took a deep breath and leaned back, putting the glass on the desk and taking the ring from James. "It's exactly what I imagined, James. Fantastic craftsmanship, my good man. And the platinum casing was not a problem with the rose gold?"

James shook his head. "Not at all. The platinum is just melded with the gold to form the setting for the diamond—and what a diamond, Sir," James grinned. "You're quite the artist yourself coming up with this design to begin with."

Anthony smiled, appreciating the compliment. With his fingers he tilted the ring back and forth to see the stones catch the light and saw the brilliance from the 1.5 carat diamond as well as the sapphires surrounding it encased in the gold. Anthony replaced the ring in the velvet box.

James retrieved two more boxes—one for the actual wedding band, a white gold accompaniment to the engagement ring that perfectly mirrored the stone settings along the bands, and then the one for the matching bracelet that blended the two strands of gold into one mobius strip with alternating sapphires and diamonds... When James opened them, Anthony reached into his breast pocket of his coat and handed James one box containing the wedding band and bracelet from what seemed like so long ago to him now. He handed the ring to James and studied the bracelet one final time, reading the inscription once more and tracing it with his finger. _For my dearest darling, Lady Edith Strallan_…_In gratitude for this life you have given us…_

"Melt these as soon as possible…"

"Are you sure, Sir?"

Anthony nodded. "Relics from a past life, my friend." Anthony took the new bracelet out of the box and read the tiny inscription, smiling to himself. "A new one's already begun…" Anthony said, looking back up at James.

James smiled, and then reached and took the old strip bracelet from Anthony and pulled the chain on the nearby desk lamp to look more closely at it.

Replacing the pieces in their respective boxes, Anthony stood, and handed James his payment. "For a job well done, James. I appreciate very much your expertise and work—and it's wonderful to see you again."

"You as well, Sir, as always," James said. "And, Sir," he added, looking Anthony in the eye, "Thank you again for all you did for me…you know, during the war."

Anthony looked at him, but only shook his head. "It was a long time ago—I'm just glad we're both still here. I wish you and your family the best, James. Stay well—and thank you again." Anthony nodded slightly, donned his hat, and tucked the small boxes in his suit pocket.

"You're welcome—good day, Sir," James called after him.

"Good day, James." Anthony left the small room and made his way back out to New Bond Street. Anthony checked his timepiece and made his way to his solicitor's office.

* * *

Edith arrived back at the town house with Stewart and found Anthony in the library, a novel in hand. "Hello," he greeted her.

"Hello," she said, coming over to sit next to him. Edith kissed him, thoroughly and well.

Anthony drew in a deep breath, composing himself. "I am the luckiest man…" He stared at her and she could only smile back at him, absolutely beaming. "I take it the shopping went well?" He laughed.

Edith nodded, teasing him with raised eyebrows.

"And?" He asked.

Her reply was positively gleeful. "You've played coy for days—my turn now."

"I supposed I should check with Stewart—he's probably still unloading packages?"

"No, it wasn't much, really. I simply met your request and may have had additional necessities to see to as well—all appropriate, I assure you. I didn't take too many liberties." She kissed him again.

"But I do," Anthony whispered, returning her kisses in between words, "I do…like it…when you…take these…liberties…"

Edith's hands moved along the front of his shirt, traveling up to his tie, undoing it promptly, and started on his shirt. Anthony's lips urged hers apart, forcing her to concentrate again on the kisses. She moaned softly, welcoming him. "I may have…" she began, trying to multi-task, her eyes shut, her fingers still fumbling with his buttons, and her lips still on his, "purchased…a few…intimate…items…to…surprise you…"

Anthony's lips moved to her neck and her hands were on his chest, moving along his shoulders underneath his shirt. "Intimate?"

"Mmm…yes, I know I'm going to need them soon," Edith teased, her eyes now closed as she felt his breath and kisses trail to her ear and down to the line of her shoulder.

Without missing a beat, Anthony murmured in her ear, "I'm certain they're beautiful, but…the image of you _in_ _clothing _is not what has been tempting and tormenting me these past days and nights, sweet one…" As if to emphasize his desire, Anthony tasted her skin and then gently grazed his teeth along her neck.

"Aaahh…tor-ment...is such...an accurate word for it...ohhh-mmm..." Any coherent thought abandoned Edith, her skin tingling at the new sensation, prickling at the heat rising within.

A moment later Anthony stopped and pulled away from her, and quickly collected himself, his ragged breathing evening out. He caressed her cheek, even as he saw her shock-her cheeks flushed from the passion of the moment now abruptly doused with the mention of marital business. Tenderly, he said, "Sorry, love. It's just that we've yet to make the actual appointment for the date, my dearest—Reverend Travis should be notified. How could we forget? I'm so sorry—I've been wrapped up in other details. The license and the actual date need to be taken care of—first thing when we return."

"Oh, oh of course—you're right. You do want to marry in Yorkshire then?"

"Yes, I do—remedy what occurred before in the village. I don't want shame or embarrassment; I want it to be as wonderful a start together as possible… given the past."

"No matter what may be said this second time around?" Edith frowned.

"I suppose your grandmother will have her own opinions—and your father—but what do you want, Edith?"

Edith touched his cheek and kissed him. "I want you and I don't care where that happens. If you feel it would be best, then Yorkshire it is."

"Sunday after our Friday evening at Downton all right with you?"

"The sooner the better, my love. I'm far too anxious to wait longer than necessary. I'd marry you right now."

"Less than a week, sweet one, I promise. I'll send a post to the reverend today and follow with a phone call to confirm." Anthony stood, offering her his hand. "And Clara probably has lunch ready."

Edith giggled. She stood and leaned into his shoulder. "Wait—stop. Can't have you go in there undone," she said. Moving to stand in front of him, Edith quickly buttoned his shirt and fixed his tie. As they began walking to the dining room for luncheon, a thought occurred to her. "Did you happen to buy a new suit for the occasion—the formal one tomorrow?"

Anthony shook his head, smiling. "No, my dear, I already have the perfect attire."

* * *

Lunch and the afternoon passed in a rather lazy manner. After dinner, once again, Edith and Anthony found themselves in the library with a low fire burning. Anthony glanced up from his novel at one point and saw Edith slipping into sleep behind her book. Her legs and feet were curled beside him; he left momentarily and brought a blanket back, covering her with it—patiently using his one good arm to reposition it several times, and then resuming his position by her. From his end table, he took his pen and the paper he'd left there earlier, and placed them on the hard cover of the book he'd been reading. Looking at her sleeping, Anthony wrote…

_My lovely Edith,_

_You won't be surprised to know that I've found myself daydreaming of our wedding, which is coming quite soon. There are so many words I've not yet said that I should…so many plans we've yet to properly address… A honeymoon? How long? Six weeks? A year? Well, how long should I keep you entirely to myself? A lifetime, sweet one—nothing less. I still feel I have so much that I need to make up to you—so much that I owe you from these past years we've been apart. I know I will have to share you eventually, but I find that I dread returning to Locksley for it means that our time will be short and then we will be parted for at least a day. Perhaps I sound like those lovelorn writers who lament time away from their lover, but I do see that day or day and one-half as being far too long, too close to an eternity after this precious time together. _

_Watching you sleep (as you're doing now), or sharing our meals, or simply reading alone together by the fire, or perhaps what I love the most—holding you close any time I wish, feeling you lying in my arms… Edith, have we been in heaven these past weeks? When I remind myself that we're embarking on a lifetime of this togetherness, I can hardly fathom how blessed I am. You are the love and the peace I've sought for so long and I pray I can be as much and more for you. Fate and my own mistakes denied us both—not once, but twice—but I know now that I will spend the rest of my life working towards the unattainable goal of being the man who deserves you. _

_Did you know you occasionally murmur in your sleep? I'm smiling just now watching you, listening to you. Do you know how beautiful you look when you're concentrating while reading? How you absently tuck your lovely curls behind your ears when you study your writing—and then how your right brow furrows slightly more than your left as you examine it once more? Or that you have lovely hands? Or how you make me feel when you slip your arm in mine to walk beside me? How much I love it when you lean into me, your back against my chest, and then rest your head back on my shoulder as you let out the loveliest of sighs… Perhaps it is best put like this: I love being yours. I have always been_ _and will always be, darling. Only now, we truly have one another and I know you're mine as well—neither of us loving in vain any longer. _

_You're starting to wake. Your sweet eyes have opened and settled on me and your sleepy smile that I adore…dearest darling, I love you so…_

_Yours-Anthony _

"What are you doing?"

Anthony returned her smile. "Just a little letter writing."

"Oh…" Edith sat up. "I'm so tired—do you mind if we retire early this evening?"

"Not at all, sweet one. Tomorrow will be a long day," Anthony said. He folded the letter carefully on his lap and tucked it into his pocket before he helped her stand. Just as she started in front of him, she stopped and leaned into him—rested her head on his shoulder and he smiled feeling her weight against him, her left hand reaching for his and pulling it around her.

"I'm looking forward to tomorrow," Edith said. "You mentioned I'd be on your arm? Being beside you is where I belong, Anthony."

He kissed her neck and whispered, "I couldn't agree more, darling." They stood there a minute longer, eyes closed, him holding her flush against him.

Once upstairs, the two went to their respective rooms to ready for bed and when Edith arrived—always a bit quicker to change and join him in his room—she found the letter he'd put on her pillow and she read it by the lamplight from her nightstand. Anthony joined her after a couple of minutes, saw her tears and her smile and embraced her by the bed.

"I never want you to wonder how much you mean to me." Anthony felt her hands clutching his back, pulling him tighter. "You are everything to me, Edith—and tomorrow," he leaned away from her slightly, his fingers tilting her chin up to him and then brushing away the tears that fell, "tomorrow, Edith, will be the beginning of the rest of the world knowing you mean everything to me. I love you, sweet one."

"I love you, Anthony. I love you…"


	21. Chapter 21

_A/N: Several kind readers mentioned the ring Anthony designed for Edith. Please forgive me and know that I don't mean to be coy by avoiding answering questions, but I hesitate to give away part of the story. The ring is something I researched in terms of the different types of gold, the stones, etc. because I think Anthony is a meticulous, thorough, knowledgeable man who would be thoughtful—particularly at this point given the couple's history—in choosing something of meaning and merit for his bride; I've never seen anything like the ring I described and that was purposeful, but I will let Anthony do my (and his) explaining in a later segment of the story… _

_For this portion: Yes, I've had some fun with this and learned a fair bit during my research, but I hope you'll indulge me and that it remains true to our favorite couple. The darkness Anthony's suffered deserves some light (and material reward for bravery and honor) and Edith deserves some happiness and a bit of revelation in seeing him in this circumstance, so here goes…_

* * *

"The hired car's arrived, Sir."

Anthony turned from looking in the mirror. "Wonderful. Let's wait downstairs for Edith."

"Does she know, Sir, where you two are going just yet?"

Anthony grinned. "Of course not. I think the manner of dress, the regalia and the guard present at the location—and the location itself-will more than give it away. Don't you, Stewart?"

Stewart laughed. "Of course, Sir. It's not every day one is in the presence of royalty."

"Very true." Anthony chuckled and followed Stewart out, descending the stairs to stand in the hall, watching the clock and waiting for Edith.

"Sir Anthony?" Anthony turned to see Clara at the top of the stairs, a delighted smile on her face. "I believe your lady is ready."

Stewart exchanged smiles with Anthony, who then turned and looked back up at Clara, who was now making her way down the stairs to stand by Stewart.

Edith appeared. As she lifted her royal blue, silk gown to take the first step towards him, Edith's eyes locked with Anthony's. Each admired the other, blushing in turn, barely breathing in the suspended moment it took for her to descend and meet him. Taking the final step, Edith placed her gloved right hand in Anthony's left and stood beside him.

"You look—" They both began simultaneously—and then laughed together, shaking their heads.

"Stunning," Anthony said. He extended their clasped hands, coaxing her to step back and turn around so he could fully take in the sight of her in the floor-length, form-fitting gown. "My God, darling, you're just…words can't possibly do you justice…"

Edith's self-conscious smile in response only made her that much more radiant. "And you…look utterly marvelous! Absolutely marvelous, Anthony Strallan," Edith said, reaching for him to feel his uniform jacket, seeing him in full service dress for the first time, her fingers delicately tracing the ribbons and multiple medals covering his chest. "My God…I had no idea…" she whispered. Her eyes came to rest on the cross and then the MBE before looking into his eyes again. "Dr. Clarkson mentioned your service—your bravery…Anthony?"

Stewart and Clara left the two alone, disappearing without notice.

Anthony's smile faded as he watched Edith's eyes continue to study his decorated uniform, to read the insignia designated on each piece of the polished, brilliant metal. When she met his stare, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed her eyes. "It was a long war, sweet one…" Edith tried to regain her composure, to smile at his terrible, absurdly understated explanation—but instead just embraced him, held him tightly and wished desperately he'd not had to endure any of it.

"I love you so much—I'm so sorry…" she said, her voice muffled in his chest.

"Sshhh, my darling. It's all right. It's all right now," he soothed. After another minute, he pulled away from her, letting her collect herself.

"I'm so proud of you," she said, making a point of straightening his jacket collar, checking each ribbon's precise placement. "I'll be right back."

"Of course, and I'll be here."

When Edith returned, she smiled, the redness around her eyes almost gone, and she immediately took his arm and leaned into him. "Shall we?"

Anthony bent and kissed her cheek. "You look beyond lovely—and yes, the car's waiting."

When the couple stepped outside, Edith hesitated. "A Rolls-Royce and not a taxi car?"

The driver held the door for them and Edith could only smile at Anthony's coy grin. Once they were seated, the driver took his place and turned back to Anthony. "Buckingham Palace, Sir?"

Edith gaped. "Wh—?"

"Yes, please."

Anthony laughed when he looked at Edith. "Enjoy the ride, my dearest darling."

"Anth—!"

"We've been invited—it's quite all right." He glanced at her again and laughed aloud at her still-wide eyes.

"Everything all right, Sir?" the driver inquired.

"Yes, yes, everything is just fine," Anthony assured him.

Once they arrived, Anthony had Edith on his right side and she slipped her hand above his sling, felt his left hand rest just on hers. He smiled down at her and she took a breath.

"Major Strallan!"

Anthony turned towards the sound of a young man's call. "Captain!" Anthony guided Edith over to the young man. Covering the few meters to meet him, Edith observed the captain—just older than Edith, dark-haired, a patch over one eye, and missing a leg; he sustained his balance with the help of a crutch. His uniform, too, was decorated much like Anthony's.

"Major Anthony Strallan—this is my mother, Eleanor Harmon," the young captain gestured. "Mother, Major Strallan and I…well, you've heard about him for years now. This is the man who saved my life." The young man's voice broke with emotion and he glanced away.

Anthony graciously bowed and took the hand of the older woman, petite with gray hair, and a slightly-ill-fitting but handsome dress. "How do you do?" He smiled.

She smiled, shy from the gentleman's formal manners. "Thank you, Major, for my son." Her voice was strained, too, and Edith saw then that the captain himself was near tears. Edith felt the sting in her own eyes as she observed Anthony with them.

"Young Albert has clearly not told the entire story—for he saved me, as well." Anthony turned to Edith. "Lady Edith Crawley, this is Mrs. Eleanor Harmon and Captain Albert Harmon—one of my partners and one of today's honorees." Edith shook their hands, nodding to both and smiling. "Albert was gracious enough to invite me and a guest—he's allowed three—to join his mother here for the investiture," Anthony said, turning back to Albert. "I'm honored to be here, Captain, as is Lady Edith."

Albert smiled at him. "I'd have it no other way, Sir. My mother's all I have after losing Nicholas—and—"

Seeing her son beginning to crumble emotionally, Eleanor put her arm around his waist. "It's all right, son. We're all here now and it looks like it's about to begin."

Music announced the entrance into the palace and the honorees taking part in the investitures ceremony as well as the guests entered and took their respective places. Edith stayed close, her arm intertwined with Anthony's, proud to be seen with him.

Once seated, with Mrs. Harmon on Anthony's right side and Edith on his left, Edith leaned into Anthony's ear. "Does Albert not have any other family?"

"No, his father passed before the war and his one brother, Nicholas, was killed in France."

"So, he considers you his family—I mean, to have invited you here?"

Anthony nodded. "We became quite close," he whispered. "War—being taken together—it melded us like nothing else could, I'm afraid. His citation came a bit later than mine…his recovery was a bit—uncertain."

Throughout the afternoon, Edith remained speechless watching the ceremony—seeing King George V take special time to recognize those present for military and civilian honors brought tears to her eyes and she looked at Anthony several times to see his blue eyes shining, wet with tears as well, and she held his hand tighter, and he would look at her and they would share discreet smiles. By the time Albert was honored, Edith was grateful Anthony had passed her his handkerchief earlier, as she was overcome by Eleanor's and Anthony's reaction of pride and affection—both smiling through their own tears.

When the ceremony came to a close, Eleanor Harmon touched Anthony's arm lightly. "Thank you so much, again, for being here for Albert."

"Not at all, Mrs. Harmon. Will you and your son please do us the honor of accompanying Edith and me to the reception? I already have a hired car," Anthony said.

"Oh, well, of course, that sounds wonderful. Thank you!"

The elegant reception was held for the military honorees and their families at The Hotel Cecil in a private dining room off of the main salon. Edith found herself beaming when she entered once more on Anthony's arm—several officers nodding to him, knowing him from service. The four of them took their seats at a table, sharing tea and sandwiches and cakes over polite conversation and attempts not to dwell too much on the common thread of the war, which seemed to lie just beneath the surface of every topic discussed. After eating, Anthony politely excused himself and Edith to visit with several other uniformed men across the room.

For more than an hour, the two chatted and mingled with almost everyone present. Anthony proudly introduced Edith to everyone he knew. All were polite and some had heard of her through her work at _The Sketch_, feigning riotous behavior over some of her opinion pieces—teasing her in good fun while Anthony held her close, his expression one of utter joy as she stood her ground and offered rather pithy replies in return, exhibiting her sharp intellect and witty humor to his delight. At the height of the conversational exchange, Anthony whispered, "I love you like this," and Edith's concentration on the debate at hand faltered for only a moment before she looked up at him, both grinning madly at one another. He kissed her on the cheek then and she attacked a final time, leaving the middle-aged officer beside Anthony tongue-tied. The entire group erupted in laughter and Edith triumphantly excused herself to nab a fresh cup of tea. Several of the officers elbowed Anthony and playfully jeered him as he beamed after her with a look of perfect adoration.

Edith heard some of the ribbing and only smiled to herself and accepted a cup of tea as a server filled it for her.

"May I join you?" A gentleman in service dress leaned next to her, gesturing with his own cup.

Uncertain as to how to respond, Edith simply nodded. "Of course."

The salt-and-pepper-haired officer stood almost as tall as Anthony, but his uniformed frame was broader and his eyes were a dark brown. "You must be Lady Edith." He smiled at her.

"Why, yes," Edith said, her hand settling on her neck, her anxiety causing her to blush. "Do I know—"

He shook his head. "I'm an old friend of Major Strallan's. My apologies—I'm Dr. Jonathan Bristol."

Edith smiled, waited.

"I didn't mean to worry you; I just…" He looked around, spotted Anthony, who waved at him. "I just want you to know, Lady Edith, how very glad I am to see you're with him."

"You know about me…and Anthony?"

"Yes, quite a lot, actually. I worked with him all during the war—especially so when he returned from that hell—pardon me—"

"It's quite all right. His injury, you mean?"

"That, too. The toll of the…war itself, you see. What they did to him…my God…" Dr. Bristol shook his head. "It takes a long time to heal from it—if you ever do."

"Yes, I can understand that, I think." Edith looked over to see Anthony still chatting with his fellow officers. "Did he talk of me specifically?" Edith couldn't help her curiosity.

"Yes, he did."

Edith appeared puzzled.

"You're surprised?"

"Yes, actually." She hesitated. "Well, you see, just before he left things went terribly awry for us—he left thinking I had…rejected him." She winced at the memory of the garden party and her sister's intervention.

Dr. Bristol offered a quick nod and smile. "I know. Without giving away too much of our private conversations, Lady Edith, I will only say that he's a different man now than the one I saw; I can tell even now across the room looking at him. I had always hoped that things would work out for him. I thought they had a couple of years ago, but…" With that he held up his hand, muting Edith's explanation for the nightmarish wedding. "I know about that, too. There's no need to explain; I've seen him a few times in the months since…he's been troubled, as I'm sure you're aware."

Edith affirmed his presumption.

At that moment, Anthony joined them, slipping his arm around Edith. "Doctor—Jonathan—how are you?"

"Well, Major—as you seem to be."

Anthony smiled. "Indeed. I see you've met Lady Edith."

"Yes, we've just been talking—I filled her in on our friendship a bit through the war and all."

Anthony looked to Edith. "Jonathan's been a wonderful friend and his expertise has kept me—literally—saner than I would've otherwise been." He turned back to the doctor. "Thank you again for helping me."

"It's nothing. Besides, it seems you are in need of no help whatsoever with this sharp woman on your arm. In what looks to be my last bit of professional advice to you, Anthony: do whatever you need to in order to ensure this woman remains at your side."

Anthony kissed Edith on the cheek. "I think he's right, sweet one." He turned back to Jonathan and offered his left hand. "I plan on doing just as you say, Doctor."

"Take care, Major. Good to see you, Sir, and it was a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Edith." The doctor gave a slight bow and a nod and then left the couple alone.

"He seems to know you quite well," Edith said, more of a question than factual statement.

"Yes, well…when I returned to London, I was…hospitalized for quite some time. I needed help—treatment, really," Anthony grimaced, blushing at the word; his shame and embarrassment evident to Edith. "It sounds like I was crazy, but that—"

"Anthony, I think you know that I know better—and that you needn't feel ashamed at whatever help you received. My God, you were hurt, tortured, feared for your life for days and months, and couldn't trust anyone or anything around you. Of course, you needed help and time and care, darling." Edith brushed the back of his cheek with her gloved hand, assuring him.

"Of course, you're right. And treatment is probably the most accurate word; Dr. Bristol and I talked for hours at a time…or sometimes sat in complete silence. He was quite patient with me, but he could only do so much…"

"And you deserved every bit of that help, Anthony." Edith wrapped her arm in his and pulled him even closer. "Now, as the good doctor implied, you have my love—and you deserve that as well...and I think you're getting better each day. Don't you agree?"

Seeing her smile at him, the expression on her face, Anthony could not help but agree. The nightmares hadn't happened since that terrible day of the post regarding Simmons' death—and Edith had handled everything with such love and tenderness—and hadn't left his side since, most especially at night when she lay beside him, let herself be held by him.

"Ready to return home, darling?"

"Yes, I think so," Edith replied.

"Let me see about the Harmons' accommodations and I'll be right back." Anthony kissed her on the cheek and quickly walked over and chatted with Albert and his mother. By the end of the conversation a couple of minutes later, Anthony had to pull himself away from their embrace and shake his head in deference. He then waved at Edith and signaled he'd be back shortly, leaving her a bit confused by the entire exchange.

When he did finally return, Anthony took her hand in his, relishing her fingers threading through his own as they waved and said their final goodbyes and wished the Harmons well once more before walking into the evening air.

"What was all of that about?" Edith asked.

"Nothing, really."

"Anthony Strallan? Did you make some kind of special gesture and you're too humble to say it aloud?"

He remained quiet and Edith stopped them right there just outside of the hotel. Anthony waited, unwilling to voice an answer.

"What did you do for them?" Edith smiled, the answer coming to her. "They're not from the city—are they?"

Anthony's eyebrows rose a bit and he glanced away to the hotel valet, waving for his driver to see them.

"Anthony! You made arrangements for them to stay here at this marvelous hotel for the night, didn't you?"

"I believe our car's coming around shortly, darling," Anthony said, refusing to confirm her accusation of generosity.

Edith continued to talk though, answering everything to herself. "That means you paid for it and you made sure their belongings were taken care of and arranged additional transportation and—"

Anthony turned her around, embracing her from behind, letting Edith lean against him in what she now knew was his favorite way to hold her as she relentlessly detailed his last few minutes helping the Harmons and making their stay in London that much more special. She finally let her head rest against his chest and concluded with a quiet sigh, "I love you, Anthony Strallan…I love you so much that I just can't believe it sometimes and—"

"I love you more."

"And I'm so proud of you and…thank you for such a wonderful day," she added.

"I think tomorrow will be even better."

Edith laughed and pulled away from him, her hands moving to his face and through his hair. "Darling, how in the world can something be better than what we witnessed and experienced today? I felt so much like I _belonged _to you today—seen together and such a beautiful ceremony and meeting everyone and being introduced by you and…you say tomorrow will be better? I have no choice other than to trust you, my love."

Anthony kissed her: a tender, unspoken promise…

When she opened her eyes, Edith looked directly into his and said, "I do, Anthony—you must know that I do trust you—completely."

Anthony brought his hand to her cheek, a soft silhouette caress as he looked into her eyes. "After all we've been through," he felt the ache in his chest at the acknowledgement of the past, "after everything I did, my love, that means so much to me to hear those words from you—to know you believe in me. Thank you, sweet one."

Edith rose to her tiptoes and kissed him, her gloved fingertips absorbing the tears from his eyes before they fell. When the kiss ended, Edith's hands held him close to her still, their foreheads together and lips only a breath apart. "Thank you," she whispered.

In the fading light of dusk, Anthony stared into her bright, dark eyes and thought of the rings and the bracelet-how they already belonged to the woman he held, Lady Edith _Strallan_-though she didn't know it yet, and how he could see the significance of tomorrow...their new life together...

* * *

_A/N: I would be remiss to not include the official website I found most helpful in researching this piece…works cited and all that…was the official site for the royal family online. I find the history behind the honours and medals bestowed upon the citizens—both military and civilian—that are recognized absolutely fascinating… Thank you for reading and reviewing! I hope you've enjoyed it thus far…_


	22. Chapter 22

**Part I**

Edith watched Anthony as he slept beside her, the two having fallen asleep facing one another and whispering into the early hours of the morning about honeymoon plans in Italy and other destinations.

Looking at him sleep, comforted by his even breaths, Edith replayed the dream she'd had just before waking; she smiled, then, at the recollection of her beautiful, very pregnant sister Sybil laughing with her and smiling coyly as they discussed the wedding and, to Edith's modest embarrassment, the wedding night.

_"He thinks I don't know, but of course, I do. We'll spend two weeks in Rome, then Florence, then Venice. So I couldn't be happier." _

_Cousin Isobel and Violet smiled, one more genuine than the other in her obvious delight for the young woman and her betrothed._

_Sybil sipped her coffee. "And what about Locksley? Is there masses to be done?"_

_"It's not too bad—"_

_"It's not too bad downstairs; the bedrooms are killers," Mary chimed in as Matthew stewed, inconsolable in the nearby chair._

_Isobel smiled and offered her support, seeking to soften the potential criticism, knowing how the rest of the family felt about the upcoming nuptials. "Well, don't do anything too fast; it takes time to know how a house works."_

_Edith smiled again, finding she couldn't help it. Every moment brought her closer to Anthony and their life together and that joy refused to yield—even to caustic remarks that she let pass._

_Violet reached for her and gave her an affectionate pat. "I really think you should go to bed. No bride wants to look tired on her wedding—it either means she's anxious or been up to no good."_

_"I won't sleep a wink," Edith admitted, at which point Sybil's eyebrow cocked with mischievous intent._

_"Tonight or tomorrow?" Sybil grinned behind the cup even as the coy expression—the shine in her beautiful eyes—told Edith all she needed to know about the pleasure that would marvelously steal from her any possible sleep the following night… _

_The two exchanged smiles before Violet scolded the younger sister: "Sybil, vulgarity is no substitute for wit."_

_"Well, you started it."_

Edith's eyes stung with the memory even as she smiled at her baby sister's verbal jousting with their grandmother. Clearly, sharp repartee ran in the Crawley genes. As the tear fell to her cheek, Edith wiped it away and the small movement woke Anthony, alarmed at seeing her upset.

"Darling? What is it?"

Edith shook her head, half sobbing and half laughing. "Just a memory…Sybil…" She lay on his chest and he held her, uncertain as to what to say. When she calmed, she lifted her face, leaned on her elbow, and looked at him. "It's one of my favorite memories of her—teasing about _our _wedding night—" She laughed.

Anthony, still confused as to what she was referring to, smiled, captivated by her expression: Edith's slightly tangled curls and her eyes glistening and her dulcet laughter, even as she swept another tear away. "Our wedding night?"

Edith recounted for him the conversation between the women on the eve of that fateful day and Anthony's cheeks reddened knowing what Lady Sybil shared with Edith—both the subtle pleasure of her own experience with Tom and the implied meaning for Edith during her first night as Anthony's wife.

"I was thinking about it because of the dream I had," Edith's features lightened, her tears disappeared. "I dreamt that Sybil and I were laughing together over tea, sharing bits of our lives…we rarely did really, but in this dream we were chatting and you and I had just returned from honeymoon." She kissed Anthony. "And…" She gave him a sly smile.

"And?" Anthony's hand cupped her cheek.

"She asked about _that night_."

Anthony smiled at his Edith and tilted his head, expectant. "And?"

Edith's laughter filled the room for a moment before she looked into his eyes, her smile fading and giving way to the most beautiful, serene stare. "Being _with Anthony, _I told her, confirmed everything I've ever felt for him—that we belong together…and I told her it was just as she hinted it would be and more, so much more. And then she said, in this dream, she said that it was exactly that way for her and Tom—'soul mates,' she said. Then, she put her cup and saucer down and held my hand for a moment and looked at me in all seriousness and said, 'You two were so right for one another; I saw it! I always knew you two belonged together—I'm so happy for you now.' And then you and Tom arrived, talking and laughing together like old friends…" Edith paused, noticed the tears now present in Anthony's eyes.

"How would you feel, sweet one, if I were to ask Tom to be my best man? Stewart will be there, of course, but I'd like Tom to stand up for me—be beside me. We wouldn't be here, after all, if he hadn't come to me."

"I think that sounds perfect, my love." Edith's focus drifted. "I don't know why I would have that dream now and not…after our first time to be _together_…" She flushed.

"Perhaps it's just a bit of reassurance…perhaps because of today's significance, though not quite in _that_ sort of way—"

"And why is today significant?" She kept the tone casual, hoping in the early morning to catch him off-guard and cause him to reveal more than he had thus far.

Anthony, aware of her ploy, laughed. "Breakfast, my sweet one? We should dress and eat and take a walk as there's so much to look forward—"

Edith grabbed the pillow and feigned tossing it at him before he sat up and leaned closer to her, pushed the pillow away and kissed her.

* * *

After breakfast, the two enjoyed some quiet time in the library and made their first plans for honeymoon. Anthony agreed that the idea of Italy—Rome, Florence, and Venice, and the option of Capri—was perfect and set about with departure plans and initial arrangements to be made. Edith began a bit of work on her new writing project while he was out and tending to business appointments regarding their travel plans and the farm and estate, including a visit to his solicitor to amend his final wishes relevant to his financial holdings and Locksley. Surprised, his solicitor, James Clary, made the revisions and agreed to deliver them to Locksley the following week after the nuptials were to take place.

When Anthony returned, he found Edith typing at a furious pace with a look of perfect determination etched on her face and an abandoned cup of tea beside her at the desk.

"My darling…" Walking behind her so as not to blatantly interrupt her concentration, he bent to peek over her shoulder, kissing her tenderly along her neck. When he knew he had her attention, he extended his hand to display something in front of her typing.

Edith closed her eyes the moment his lips touched her, but when she was able to focus again at what was in front of her, she saw he held two concert tickets. "Anthony! How lovely! Tonight?"

"Yes, if you like?"

"Of course!" She took the tickets to examine them further and glanced up again with wide eyes. "This is the newest one—_Gianni Schicchi_," she said, slowly, attempting to pronounce the Italian correctly.

"You're pleased then?"

"Of course!" Edith stood and kissed him, then rested her head on his chest.

"We always liked Puccini," he whispered into her hair as he held her. "Are you familiar with the plot?"

"No, not really."

"Lovers are kept apart by class and family woes…Lauretta and Rinuccio, but with a bit of help—well, we'll see if they have a happy end…"

Edith sighed, delighting in the sound of Anthony's deep voice soft against her and the feel of his heart steady at her cheek. "Something tells me ours will be..."

* * *

Luncheon was a quiet affair and Edith and Anthony decided on a walk in the heart of London; Edith showing Anthony some of her favorite places that charmed her while she was working as a journalist. Anthony talked with her about the time he spent in London during the war and they ended up near Westminster Abbey, intrigued by the beautiful choral sounds resonating from within.

Entering quietly, the two sat in the very back, and listening, became mesmerized by the boys' choir practicing for Corpus Christi.

"I came here when I first returned," Anthony began, his tone confessional-quiet so as not to disturb the acoustics of the performance rehearsal. "I know most people wondered where God was during all of it and I understand why after seeing what I saw…all that happened…"

Edith squeezed his hand tighter, leaned closer to him.

"I prayed for you."

Edith looked at him, taken aback a bit.

He nodded. "I did—when I was held over there…in that hell. I had a lot of time to think, you see. Doubts about what your sister told me always seemed to surface, but I couldn't make sense of it; it seems no matter what, my heart, I couldn't quite let you go. When I returned, I couldn't help but be drawn here—not by the grandeur or the choir or the bells… I prayed for you, for those lost and broken like me… I hoped and prayed you were happy, that you'd found someone—that you'd never see me like this," he said, gesturing to his sling. "And when I…left you…I came to London very briefly…ended up here for a short while, praying you were all right, that you were happy or would be, and once again hoping you'd find the man you were meant for, someone better than—" Anthony felt her hands at his cheeks as he shut his eyes to hold back the tears.

"I did find the man I was meant for, darling." Anthony opened his eyes as if for the first time, and Edith gave him the most glorious smile. "I don't know how many signs you needed to know that we were right for each other; apparently, He knew you wouldn't understand until you were laid up at Downton and unconscious under my care."

Anthony smiled. "Quite right, my love. Perhaps I was a bit…stiff-necked."

"A bit, yes, I agree—but I understand. You're lucky though," she whispered. When she saw his inquiring look, she added, "You're stubborn, but you're lucky, in that, you love a woman who is at least twice as stubborn as you." She kissed him on the cheek and relaxed as he put his arm around her in the back pew.

As they listened to the choir, Edith rested her head on his shoulder and Anthony glanced up and said another silent prayer—one of gratitude, a hope for the evening's plans, and he felt peace, a stillness settle inside of him like he'd never known and closing his eyes for a moment, held Edith a bit tighter to him, feeling her hair soft against his cheek and her breath pause for a moment and then match his own with the next he drew… Two as one…


	23. Chapter 23

_Apologies for the post and the subsequent re-post-technical difficulties. Thank you for R/R...hope you enjoy! _

* * *

**Part 2**

Stewart closed Anthony's door quietly behind him and Anthony took the tiny open box and held it closer to the light on his dressing table. Replacing it on the table, he closed it securely and tucked it inside of his coat pocket alongside the handkerchief Stewart had already folded for him.

As they rode in the car to Queen's Hall, they shared adoring looks in the light of dusk.

"Happy?"

"Splendidly so," Edith replied. "Though I'm a bit disappointed you've already seen this one…"

Anthony shook his head. "Not with you I haven't; therefore, I haven't really lived to see it at all, have I?"

Though neither spoke of it, they both found themselves remembering 1914 and their first official outing together alone. Edith knew she loved him by the end of evening as he, in perfect gentlemanly fashion, took her arm and made excuses to leave the dinner and return her home and Anthony, still unbelieving at his luck in having her with him, admitted to her later that he'd given up his heart when he first saw her eyes glisten in the dark and he relinquished his handkerchief to her.

The evening was mild for May, but the chill in the air was still present and as they stepped out at the entrance Anthony took her hand and led her inside where they checked her coat. Anthony found himself staring again—her collar bone and shoulders revealed so beautifully by the sleeveless, coral rose gown.

"So beautiful," he whispered as she took his arm and they made their way inside to their seats.

Anthony watched Edith rather than the opera. The dim light from the production was just enough to grant him the glow of her ivory skin, the slight rise of her breast with each emotion the performance elicited, but particularly her laughter.

As Anthony anticipated, Edith's passion for the one-act comedy overwhelmed her during the daughter's plea of "O Mio Babbino Caro" and Anthony released her hand and slid his fingers into his coat to retrieve the handkerchief, briefly caressing the box that remained there. He pressed the silk cloth in her gloved hand and, not looking away from the stage, Edith took it and dabbed her eyes. In the lover's duet in the final minutes, as the two held onto each other onstage, Anthony felt Edith clutch his hand tighter as tears filled her eyes and a delighted smile lit her features. He squeezed hers gently in return, smiled at the memory of his father's words so long ago_… "Marry a lady who cries like your mother does at the opera—you may not understand it—but marry a woman who feels so deeply and passionately because I know, like me, you will have found someone touched by life and beauty and love…a woman who knows what makes a life worth living, one who will be able to make you happy."*_ When she held her hands together in her lap then, her attention rapt on the performance, Anthony watched her and, in a long overdue moment, with tears forming in his own eyes, he again felt inside his coat pocket. His fingers deftly opened the tiny box, freeing the ring from its confines. He held it, gazed at the gold and the stones and thought of all they represented, and then leaned closer to her.

Edith's eyes remained on the performers and her senses heightened with the music's crescendo, but she instinctively leaned closer to him as she felt him nearer to her…and then she looked down to see something glitter in the darkness.

"May I have the honor of being your husband, my sweet one?"

Even in the darkness, Anthony saw it—his favorite, most cherished expression that he'd seen just that morning when Edith shared her dream of Sybil and that the opera provoked in her in the final scene that was now causing the audience around them to erupt in laughter and applause—her dark eyes luminous and wet with tears and her lips curving into the most brilliant, joyous smile. As the others around them stood for the ovation, Edith and Anthony stood, her gloved hands holding the ring and his tender touch at her cheek as he watched her in wonder in the now brightening house lights. In the midst of the departing crowd, they held each other.

"Yes, yes I want you for my husb—"

Before she finished, Anthony kissed her—sweet and tender. "I'm sorry I ruined the end for you."

"Goodness no," Edith laughed. "Can we, perhaps, get out of here though—to be alone?"

"A late dinner? I have reservations for us…or we can simply cancel and return home? Whatever you wish, darling."

"Home, please."

Anthony used the telephone at the Hall to cancel the restaurant reservations and to call Stewart and Clara to inform them of the change in plans.

As they drove back to the town home, Edith kept moving her hand in the light of the passing street lamps, marveling at the sight of the stones and the gold. Then, every few seconds she would look up, beaming at him, and see Anthony returning the look in favor.

When they arrived, Stewart—a bit pensive due to the couple's change in plans—met them at the door to take their coats. "A good evening, Sir?"

Anthony grinned at his loyal valet and Edith laughed. "Indeed, Stewart—a wonderful evening."

"Stewart, it was more than wonderful," Edith said. "Perfect…a perfect day."

"Congratulations, Sir," Stewart's subtle breath and sigh of relief did not go unnoticed by Anthony, who clapped him on the shoulder.

"Thank you, Stewart."

After profuse apologies for their abrupt change in plans and a change into more casual attire, the two settled in the library by the fire already prepared for their return and Clara and Stewart appeared after a short while with a small dinner of leftover roast lamb with rosemary and vegetables and a delicious cake for dessert.

"My gosh, I know she's studying to be a teacher, but she has her mother's gift for cooking—I was famished," Edith said, moving from a nearby table to the couch.

The couple arranged themselves on the couch, turning off the lamps in favor of the softness of night, and Edith lying down with her head in Anthony's lap and their hands intertwined except for the occasional moment when she held her ring up again to catch the firelight.

"I designed it with you in mind, of course, but a friend at Asprey did the hard work," Anthony explained. "The white and the rose…crown gold, my love—purity and love together bound with these bands. The sapphires, I believe, you mentioned once how much you loved them and, like you, they are beautiful and nearly unbreakable. The platinum is one of the rarest elements—pure, strong...the diamond—an unbreakable stone, a promise—so the platinum is surrounding it, holding it together. I promise, Edith. I'm so sorry it's taken this long…"

Edith clasped his good hand in hers and shifted to reach his cheek. "I think Shakespeare said it best: 'The course of true love never did run smooth.'"

Anthony kissed her on the lips. "I think it's more like 'Lord, what fools these mortals be' and I have been for so long—I'll make it up to you, I swear, darling; I'll try for the rest of my days…"

Their night ended late again. Newly betrothed, feeling more a part of each other than ever, they struggled with restraint as kisses deepened and touches lingered…

* * *

The following morning, though still drowsy from the lack of sleep, they said their good-byes to Clara and caught the train back to Yorkshire. Friday's dinner at Downton was now only a day away. As Anthony watched Edith drift into a nap, her head on his shoulder, he stared at the ring on her hand and knew there was no way he could ask her to take it off now. Talking with Robert would have to come before the dinner; this final day together—Thursday—would be the calm before the coming storm, he knew.

Late in the evening, Tom met them at the station and they hurried back to Locksley together to settle in and tell him about their trip—the highlight being when he noticed her ring and a broad grin flashed from Edith to Anthony and back again.

Tom and Anthony settled in for a brandy after Edith said good night and went upstairs for a bath and much-needed rest.

"I can't believe it, myself," Tom said.

"I know…"

"So everything went as planned?"

"Yes, I think so—except…"

"Except what?"

Anthony swallowed a bit of the liquor. "I have to see Robert first thing tomorrow—before the dinner."

Tom sat up and leaned forward in his chair. "What do you mean? I thought—"

"You saw her Tom—with the ring on. I can't ask her to take it off now just to appease her family first or keep up an appearance of propriety in the order of things, not now that we've come this far. It means so much for me and for her; I won't have her doubting us by asking her to hide it. I've got to see Robert and make things right_ before _we arrive together so they expect to see the ring."

Tom hesitated. "And what if you can't 'make things right', Anthony? Robert's come around a bit, but I'm not sure he's ready for you to announce an engagement just yet."

"He'll have to be—we're marrying Sunday." Anthony stood, unable to contain the anxiety he felt at the notion of meeting Robert. He paced in front of the fire. "I know it's right, Tom—I know we are. But Robert and his mother…neither of them wanted this—probably still don't, I'm sure, given that my situation hasn't changed. I'm just not sure I'm the type of man to…marry without gaining a father's blessing."

It took a moment, but Anthony's thoughts caught up with his company and he turned to Tom to see the grinning Irishman's blue eyes shining. Letting out a laugh, Tom said, "I can tell you all you need to know about it—if it comes to that." Seeing that his humor didn't put Anthony at ease in the least, Tom settled a bit and reassured his more serious companion. "But it won't, Anthony. Robert's approval I'm more certain of than his mother's, though. But she did pay for Sybil and me to come for Mary's wedding—there's a soft spot there…if you can find it." He shook his head and finished his drink.

"Tom?"

The young man set his glass on the tray. "Yes?"

Anthony sat beside him in the opposite chair by the hearth. "I was hoping you might consider being my best man? After all, your request and our friendship—the farms—it's the reason Edith and I found one another again. You've been very kind to us. No matter what happens at Downton tomorrow—will you stand up for me?"

"I'd be honored." Tom stood and extended Anthony his left hand. "I suppose I'll see you first thing in the morning at Downton?"

"You will, yes."

Judging Anthony now, Tom knew he was a different man than the haunted figure he'd come to for help just a few short weeks ago. The change amazed him—the straighter posture, the lightness now in his features, the return of color and vigor. Tom nodded at the older gentleman as the two walked out to the car. "Oh, my daughter will be looking forward to seeing you—she still wants to come back and see about that butterfly in the orchard. The sweetest moment, too, when she said the other night she wanted me to kiss her hand—'Kiss hand, Daddy'—like you do when you see her. And I thought I was doing enough to spoil her already," Tom said, smiling as he cranked the vehicle. "Good night, Anthony."

"Good night, Tom."

Edith lay sound asleep in their bed. Anthony showered and slipped on his pajama pants. When he pulled the covers back to climb in beside her, he noticed Edith wasn't in her nightgown but his matching pajama shirt that he'd forgone wearing.

"I love you," she murmured without opening her eyes.

"I love you. Nice shirt," he said, kissing her on the temple.

"I wanted to be surrounded by you—your scent is still on it…tomorrow I won't be here…have to be at Downton…"

Anthony frowned at the thought, a pang of fear and dread that began to eat away at him as Edith fell back asleep. In the darkness, the all-too familiar feeling of weakness consumed him as he imagined being without her, if only temporarily, of confronting her family again. He tried to take a deep breath and couldn't. He pulled her close to him, linking his fingers with hers, and he felt the ring, the promise… "No matter what happens, I love you, Edith…"

* * *

*The more complete story of Anthony's father and the opera can be found in _Portrait_.


	24. Chapter 24

Edith felt the lurch, the sudden movement beside her and woke—turning to Anthony, lying rigid beside her with his eyes open.

"Anthony?"

She shifted closer to him, putting a hand on his chest and the other on his cheek. "Anthony, darling?"

When he still didn't respond, she moved to sit beside him, and leaned down to look directly into his eyes. She could feel his quickened heart beat against her hand as she continued to comfort him, moving her hand across his chest. Edith talked softly to him for a moment, willing him to come back to her.

"I lost you."

Edith petted his hair. "What? In the nightmare, you lost me?"

She felt him nod. Edith straddled him, sitting across his middle in his pajama shirt, and she leaned to turn the lamp on by the bed.

"I couldn't find you—the rain…my injuries…" He reached by her, absently checking his right shoulder and he winced from the perceived pain.

"I am the furthest thing from lost, my love. I'm right here and I'm not leaving you—ever."

"But they took you and—"

"Anthony—they didn't. They aren't going to. The dinner tomorrow has brought this on, don't you agree?"

Anthony nodded and reached up to touch her as Edith leaned even closer to him, his hand at her cheek and ran his fingertip along her neck, touching each button on the front of his pajama shirt as it draped open revealing her chest, and then settling at her hip. He saw the change his touch brought as he looked into her eyes. "I can't—I won't let them get in the way again. I can't lose you—not now."

"You won't." Edith kissed him. When she pulled away, a silence lingered, a tension filled with possibilities…yearning. "There is one way to be sure, but…"

Anthony peered at her in the half-light of the lamp, his right brow creased as he realized what she was implying. "I can't, Edith, not and face your father—"

"I know—but if you did, if I were yours, Anthony, here—right now—there's nothing they could do…but I don't want to…trap you—"

"You don't have to trap me, Edith—"

She exhaled, laying her head on his chest, and then whispered, "I know. I trust you, Anthony—I just know that this nightmare, these terrible doubts are what led to…what happened before. I want you to trust yourself—and the two of us together."

"It won't go away."

"It will take time—"

"Yes, but this is the first time I've suffered like this when you've been beside me in the night—"

"I'm not a cure, Anthony! Not in that way!" Edith lifted her head, looking at him, determined. "I love you and we will always have the past and I can't change that, but we can move forward. You said yourself you thought there would still be nightmares ahead—and there will be, even with me here. I'm here now and I'm telling you that we're better. You've been so much better with me here, right?"

"Yes, I am. You're right. This dinner is just a trigger. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Trust me. Have faith in us together, please," she pleaded. Seeing him consider her words in silence, she whispered, "If you need some sort of proof or certainty or…a reason to stay with me, then make love to me…let's not wait…"

Anthony regained his composure. "Edith—my darling, I don't _need_ a reason to stay with you other than I love you. Our life together will not be one of shame or an illicit beginning; we are worth so much more than that, sweet one. I will face your father and we will marry in less than three days' time; we will return here Sunday afternoon and…" Anthony finally smiled. "And we won't leave this room again until you wish to."

Edith laughed. "I shall have to be forced out to socialize again then because this—here with you in bed—is my favorite place in the world…and I think, after Sunday, it will only become even more so."

Laughing together between kisses, the two dreamt of Italy together into the early hours of the morning. Edith was impressed with his knowledge, quizzing him incessantly about his earlier travels there, setting his mind at ease as she urged him to describe what he remembered, enamored of his recitation of what he knew in Italian poetry or phrases he recalled…and on and on…

"Ti amo, principessa," he whispered, stroking her hair until sleep overtook him…

* * *

_My darling Edith,_

_I've some errands to run. Forgive me for leaving so early, but they can't wait. I should return by luncheon—pack a picnic. The weather's perfect. _

_Thank you for everything…and for all that's still to come for us. Though multiple tragedies come to my mind with brilliant love poetry, I leave you instead with the perfect sonnet. You are my ever-fixed mark, sweet one. You claim you're not a cure, but I say the two of us together can bear anything… You have my heart and my life, always._

Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
Admit impediments. Love is not love  
Which alters when it alteration finds,  
Or bends with the remover to remove:  
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark  
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;  
It is the star to every wandering bark,  
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.  
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks  
Within his bending sickle's compass come:  
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,  
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.  
If this be error and upon me proved,  
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

_To clarify: I intend to circumvent any sort of 'doom' before we get near the edge of it again… _

_Yours—_

_Anthony_

Edith laughed aloud at his final line, the dry wit that only she seemed privy to or aware enough to appreciate. She then wondered where he might be and what sort of errand would require his attention this early. Concluding it was something to do with the farms, she folded the letter and went to her room to dress…

* * *

Anthony straightened his tie and Stewart opened the door for him. With a nod and a kind smile, Stewart whispered, "My best to you, Sir."

"Thank you, Stewart." Anthony lifted his eyes and gazed around the grounds of Downton and then up at the façade of the immense structure. "Do stay close. I'm not sure how long I will be."

"Of course, Sir."

Anthony walked to the door and rang the bell, a noticeable tremor in his hand. He fidgeted a bit with his tie and the gray tweed suit, smoothing invisible wrinkles. When Carson answered with a scowl and a cocked brow, Anthony tried to smile politely. "Good morning, Carson. Is Lord Grantham available?"

"I'll see, Sir." He gestured for Anthony to enter and remain in the hall while he sought his master.

After several unsettling minutes, Robert appeared down at the library entrance. "Anthony? We weren't expecting you until dinner this evening."

Anthony braced himself. _Edith, _he repeated in his mind. "Yes, I understand and I do apologize for the early hour; however, Lord Grantham, there's—"

"Robert, Anthony." An awkward silence ensued as the two acknowledged all that had passed between them. "You're welcome here and you should call me Robert, please."

"Thank you…Robert. I need to speak with you—it's a matter of great importance to me…and to Edith."

Robert tilted his head and narrowed his eyes on the slightly taller gentleman. "Of course. Let's talk in the library."

Anthony followed Robert into the library, remembering all too well that evening now almost twenty months past when he was told to stay away from Edith. He waited for Robert to sit and then took the chair opposite by the fire as Robert offered it.

"Please—sit. Coffee?"

"No, thank you."

"Anthony, I'm glad you're well. I—well, Tom has told me more and I want to thank you for what you did to help him…" Robert glanced away. "And us."

"You're welcome. Though…I didn't really do much—Tom's got the vision like Matthew. He just needed a bit of guidance is all." Anthony took a deep breath, chose that moment to embark on the taboo topic. "Robert—I want to apologize for the past mistakes I've made. The way I abandoned Edith—"

"No, Anthony—"

"Please, Robert. I should never have treated her like that, disrespected your family—the hurt and humiliation I caused…I'm so terribly sorry and I only ask—"

"Anthony, it wasn't completely your fault."

Anthony's mouth was still open, stunned.

"I remember our conversations, Anthony; I, too, should apologize for my remarks. I was only trying to look out for Edith and I know now that—I should have been more…supportive," Robert finished.

Anthony looked at Robert and softly said, "I think we both want to do right by her. I'd like to make things right—make her happy…and…" He felt the rush in his neck and cheeks, but his voice grew stronger. "Despite my situation, Edith wishes to marry me. I can't convince her otherwise—and I refuse to continue to try. I can't tell her 'no' because her happiness is all that matters to me. And, you should know, I will not hurt her again—ever." There was an edge to Anthony's final words, the underlying promise.

Robert's eyebrows rose.

"Lord Grantham, may I, with your blessing, marry Lady Edith?" Anthony steeled himself, made no move; he only returned Robert's gaze—a cool blue stare Robert had never seen.

Robert gave him a half smile, impressed that with this proposal there were no excuses, no apologies or shameful gestures for his arm or his age. Anthony Strallan loved Edith and Robert considered Edith's chastisement before…how shallow he had been to ask Anthony to end the relationship because he was deemed unsuitable for those reasons Anthony himself admittedly saw and agonized over. Shallow indeed, Robert thought to himself now, on both our parts. "And now we're both beyond it…" Robert whispered.

"I'm sorry?"

"Sorry, dear chap. I was remembering what my daughter said—about being shallow." Robert smiled, but Anthony only looked at him with growing concern that the conversation had segued off into a dangerous tangent rather than remaining focused on the marriage plans. "It's nothing now because you seem to be _better_ and I am beginning to see things differently as well. I was just thinking back on how far we have all come."

Anthony smiled, though still waiting for a more definitive response.

"Anthony, I will be glad to walk Edith down the aisle to meet you once more—only this time I give you my blessing with a joyful heart and absolutely no reservations." He extended his hand to Anthony.

The men shook hands and then both sighed from the relief of the tension. "Even if it's quite soon? We intend to marry this coming Sunday—"

"What?"

"Yes, you see, we've been talking since my stay here and…well…eight years have already passed. We can't make up for that lost time, but we can certainly stop the passing of it apart and begin our lives as soon as possible."

Robert, still taken aback, thought of reactions and his mother's face quickly came to mind. He sighed. "I can't promise peace tonight at dinner when Mama finds out; she's still reluctant—and not subtle, as you already know, in letting us know her feelings. But yes, Anthony, you have my word and my blessing."

"Thank you, Lord Grantham."

"Robert."

"Thank you, Robert."

Anthony rose, eager to return to Locksley to see Edith.

"Anthony—wait."

Standing now, half-turned to walk away, Anthony's heart stopped—fearing that a warning of some sort was about to derail everything. "Yes?"

"Thank you." Robert stood then, almost as tall as Anthony.

"Sorry?"

"For Edith—you make her happy. I didn't see it—what's between the two of you, not really, and most people don't understand it. My darling girl has never been…typical, as you know. But you make her happy and she clearly loves you—and, as her father, though I'm certainly late in acknowledging it in the _right_ way, I have always only wanted what's best for her. I just know now that you _are _what's best for her, as well as being the one she wants. A rare combination in this unpredictable and changing world, perhaps."

Anthony could only nod, disbelief and what seemed a dozen or more other emotions shocking him into silence even as his eyes stung and he blinked to diminish the tears.

"Dinner then, tonight? Edith's arriving tonight as well, I believe?"

"Y-y-yes, we're driving together."

"See you tonight."

"Until tonight then."

By the time Anthony made it back to the car, still feeling the glowering stare of Carson at his back, he was exhausted—the lack of sleep and the adrenaline of meeting with Robert drained him. His long exhalation was heard by Stewart.

"Everything all right, Sir?"

Anthony laughed. "Getting better, Stewart." As they drove back to Locksley, Anthony looked out the window at the rolling green hills but all he could see was Edith…

* * *

A/N: Thank you for R/R. Please forgive me for any errors from my inattention caused by lack of sleep. Almost there—couple of more dragons yet...one by the name of Violet. I hope I've been true to the characters. As always, I appreciate knowing your thoughts…


	25. Chapter 25

_Prelude..._

"Tom? Hello. And hello, my little one!" Robert said, leaning down to scoop Sybil up.

"I thought we heard someone else here?" Tom said.

"Antnee." Sybil said, pulling at Robert's collar and flipping it up.

Robert looked at his granddaughter, surprised at her spot-on guess. "Actually, yes. Anthony was here, but only for a few minutes."

"Everything all right?"

"Yes, well, yes, I think so. We'll see." He kissed Sybil and passed her to Tom and noticed the younger man's uneasy look. "What is it?"

"Nothing—just that I thought he might make a point of saying hello before leaving."

"I feel sure given his business that he was rather preoccupied and meant no harm or slight," Robert assured. "I need to go and speak with Mama before tonight." He kissed Sybil one last time, but as he turned to walk away she squealed to get his attention.

"Kiss hand!"

Robert laughed and obliged. "Beautiful, sweet, and quite demanding. I don't know where on earth she gets it from," he said, his tone wry. "Tom, please let Cora know where I've gone. You can also tell her she's been right about everything—no, no. Better yet, leave that last part to me. She and Mama have that in common: both knowing when to tell me 'I told you so'…but I much prefer Cora's ways to Mama's."

Tom smiled, acknowledging he knew exactly what his father-in-law meant. Turning to Sybil, he whispered, "We'll see Sir Anthony—soon-to-be-your-uncle and your Aunt Edith tonight." He bounced her in his arms and then held her close. "Yes, we will, my love. Thank God…"

The little girl clapped and Tom kissed her cheek before they ventured to find Cora.

* * *

Anthony didn't wait for Stewart to come around and open his door, but made his way out on his own and immediately went inside at a brisk pace. "Edith?"

Mrs. Brandon peeked out from down the corridor at the kitchen. "I believe she's in the library, Sir."

Anthony laughed. "Of course—thank you, Mrs. Brandon."

Edith reclined on the sofa with a book resting in one hand as it lay on her lap, eyes intensely studying the page, and a finger twining a curl. When Anthony saw her, he paused, memorizing his Edith before he proceeded. When she became aware of him, she started to close the book and speak, but Anthony gestured. "Shhh…" He came to her, bent on one knee beside her, almost her height as she maneuvered to sit up and face him, with her legs coming to rest beside him. The book abandoned, Edith put her arms on his shoulders, circling his neck to pull him closer. "Don't say anything—"

"But you loo—"

He kissed her then, at first firmly as though he needed her to be certain of him again, but what began suddenly with no prelude became slow and ardent, worshipful. She took her time disheveling his hair, beginning the process of undoing his tie—these intimacies were now second-nature—while Anthony savored her lips and tongue before moving ever-so-slowly to her neck, below her ear…

"Where've you been?" She breathed.

"I had to settle some things…"

Edith lifted his face back to hers and kissed his lips between words. "What things…mmm…were so important…you had to leave me this morning with… a sonnet rather than waiting for me to wake?" She was smiling and there was a sweet lilt to her voice, not accusatory at all, but teasing him even as his lips lingered once more at her throat.

"You missed me when you woke?"

"Of course…tonight and tomorrow without you at all will be far worse, of course," Edith sighed as his warmth abandoned her and he pulled away.

Anthony took her hands in his and straightened his posture, his expression sober. "I was attempting to rid our evening of any 'doom' as I mentioned with the note this morning. I went to Downton to speak with your father."

Edith went cold. "What?"

"It couldn't wait—I had to speak with him, Edith. I can't let you go in there tonight and have to do some ridiculous, petty thing such as remove the ring so as to wait until I talked with him after dinner. I've promised; you've accepted. That ring—and everything I have to give—is yours. And your father has as well—accepted it, I mean." Anthony hurried to remove the handkerchief from his pocket before Edith's tears fell. "It's all right…everything's all right…"

"What did he say? I mean, what did Papa say to you—how could you convince—"

Anthony took his place beside her on the sofa, her hand in his. Edith dabbed at her eyes as he explained and he finished with Robert's final words: "He knows how unique you are—that it's always sort of baffled him, I think, and he thanked me…for loving you, for being the man you need…"

When Edith looked up at her fiancé, her own words came back to her from her conversation with Mrs. Brandon just days ago…_Joy_…Anthony's look and her own mirrored one another's. Pure, unadulterated _joy_.

"I'm famished. The wind's a bit chilly, but there's a break in the trees where we've picnicked before and it would be perfect—if you'd like?" Anthony's index finger traced her brow and then her cheek as he waited for her to calm.

Edith nodded, unable to speak as the emotion stilled her voice but not the look in her eyes. She smiled and took his face in both her hands and pressed her lips to his again.

Breathless, Anthony murmured, "Or we could just picnic here and not have to leave at all, sweet one? It's practically perfect…here right now…"

Edith's hands moved to his shoulders. She paused and leaned away from him for the few seconds it took to remove his sling and then she was kissing him, her hands sliding up his chest along his crisp cotton shirt to his shoulders, gently pushing the jacket off of him and down his arms, helping him remove it now without looking…her eyes closed, all physical sensation focused on him, on their kiss, the soft breaths between their kisses as her fingers finished off his tie, pulling it from his collar and letting it fall somewhere on the floor nearby. The buttons proved simple now as she continued by touch, sliding off the sofa to kneel in front of him, straining to continue kissing him as he held her and as each undone button allowed her greater access to him, his warmth, the skin beneath his dress and undershirts…

"Edith?"

"I'm so happy…" she whispered, her lips never actually leaving his…

"As am I, darling, but—"

"So proud of you…"

"Of us…"

Instead of continuing as she desired, Edith gently leaned away from him, smiling. "Of us, yes," she agreed. Anthony sat then on the rug in front of the fire and leaned his back against the sofa. Edith sat beside him, nestling close with his arm around her shoulders. Her hand drifted to the opening of his shirt, examining the folds of material before reaching further to his chest. Staring now at where her fingertips settled, just at the beating of his heart, she whispered, "I love you."

Lunch passed by the fire rather than in the orchards. The two ate without parting from each other's touch, knowing their time was short before their departure to Downton. Exhausted from the previous night and the morning meeting with Robert, Anthony slipped into sleep holding Edith as they lay by the fire and she leafed through another of his favorites. When she discovered she was reading aloud to only herself from his volume of Sidney's sonnets and _Arcadia_…she watched him in peaceful dreams and whispered… "Just like he wrote, my true love: You have my heart…and I have yours…" Edith tenderly swept a fallen blond lock away from his brow. "Always…"

* * *

Stewart helped him with his shirt and waistcoat, finishing off his tie and brushing his coat before Anthony nodded his approval and his loyal valet took his leave to prepare the car.

Anthony knocked lightly on Edith's door before entering.

"Come in."

As he opened it, he stood staring; his look causing Edith to doubt her appearance.

"What is it? Is this all right?" Edith turned back to the mirror and surveyed her gown once more. "Wh—"

Anthony shook his head, finally finding his voice. "You're absolutely gorgeous, sweet one." He walked and stood behind her in the mirror and kissed her bare shoulder. The beautiful ginger curls of her hair, the low cut of the coral gown, and the flow of the silk over her curves possessed every bit of his attention. "Just like in London—you've captivated me completely. I won't be able to concentrate all evening," he confessed.

Edith laughed. "You better find a way—I imagine my grandmother is probably going to be at her sharpest this evening."

Anthony refused to consider the possibility, engrossed in the image before him and his arm now wrapped around her middle. She leaned into him, turned her head, and gently kissed his neck just above his collar. "Oh, my dear…"

"We must go," she urged. "You're never late and time is short."

Anthony's eyes were closed now, the feel and scent of Edith intoxicating him. He opened his lovely blue eyes and gazed at the two of them in the mirror—very much the portrait of a married couple embracing—and, with his voice a seductive whisper in her ear, said, "Do you promise to allow us to be perhaps _fashionably late _to these events when we're married?"

"I'm not sure what you're hinting at, darling," Edith replied, coy and grinning.

"Just that we may succumb to…impetuous behavior much more often after Sunday's ceremony…" Anthony grazed her neck with his lips.

Edith wilted. His voice, his lips, his scent—he'd won again; she managed to ignore the warming of her entire body against his in an effort to be as disciplined as he had been. "Indeed. Now, given that impetuous behavior is out of the question for two days' time, let us leave now. I can't handle any more restraint and we don't want them wondering why we're late if you've picked me up at the station."

Sober again, Anthony nodded. "You're right, yes. Shall we?" He offered her his arm and they went downstairs to meet Stewart in the chill of the evening, beginning the drive to Downton huddled together in the Rolls, hands clasped and easily chatting as they dreamt of the possible scenarios that awaited them...


End file.
